Olympic Gold
by PastSelf
Summary: Mel's knowledge of the facility's renovation sends her plunging back into Aperture's depths, searching for her friend. However, she is not the only one lost down there, and things will get a lot more complicated before she can get out again. Sequel to Miss Redacted.
1. Chapter 1: The Olympian

A/N: **Stop – read this before reading anything more. This is important! **

Have I got your attention?

Good.

This is me, PastSelf, and welcome to Miss Redacted's official sequel, Olympic Gold. However, before you start, there are a few things you need to know. Number one is this: **if you haven't read my other story, Miss Redacted, this story will make no sense at all, so go back and read that one first.** I'm serious. There are major spoilers for Miss Redacted in this story – well, duh, it is the sequel, after all – and reading this by itself is not the best idea. I repeat, **read Miss Redacted first!**

Thank you.

Also, this is majorly based on the Portal 2 fanmade mod 'Portal Stories: Mel'. You don't have to play through the game to read this story because – like in my last book – I have added snippets of the game to the story so you know what's going on. If you have played through the game, congratulations on getting through some _majorly_ hard puzzles. If you haven't played it through, as I said, it's not important, but there will be spoilers inside this fanfic. The mod is free on Steam, or you can watch a walkthrough online. (Harry101uk does a fantastic walkthrough, just saying.)

Last thing: when playing Portal Stories: Mel, you can play one of two ways: smart Mel or stupid Mel. Stupid Mel dies a lot, gets all the achievements, and takes the elevator, not the stairs. I'm writing out my version of smart Mel. Challenge mode. That's how smart she is.

That's it. That's all I've got. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the story. PastSelf out.

**Olympic Gold**

**Chapter One**

**The Olympian**

**The year was 1952 and the time was close to midnight, or maybe a little past. The underground tram squeaked and rattled a little as it rode along its rail, but for the most part the ride was smooth. The carriage was empty except for Mel, who was standing up in the middle of the aisle in the back half of the tram, taking deep breaths and trying to stay awake.**

**She had started the ride seated, but as the ride had proven to be a long one with no major jolts, she had risen from her seat and begun her nighttime stretches. She was alone. Nobody would see and nobody would mind. Best to keep limber. She had no idea what kind of testing she would be doing.**

**After she had completed her stretches with no change in scenery outside the windows other than more rocks, Mel simply stood with her arms at her sides, trying to suppress her yawns. There she was when the announcement cut in.**

**There was a jingle from the overhead speakers and a crackle as if someone was tapping a microphone. "Is this thing on?" a man's deep voice asked. "Yeah, okay." He cleared his throat. "Greetings, astronaut, olympian, or war hero. My name is Cave Johnson, and boy do I have something to show you."**

**As the announcement played, the tram slid out of the stone and concrete tunnel and the view finally changed. Mel could see open stations to the sides filled with scientists, their lab coats flapping below their knees, the round Aperture logo patched onto their backs. The station walls were made out of white and red bricks and Mel could see signs pointing the way to offices. She walked back and forth to each window, her tiredness momentarily gone.**

"**You're here because you're the best the world has to offer," continued the disembodied voice of Cave Johnson, "and I don't say that lightly, mind you. So take that as one of the biggest compliments you'll ever get in your life. Even if you don't know who I am."**

**Some sort of red lit storage area flashed by on either side. The tram was moving slowly, so Mel was able to get a good look out both sides before it disappeared.**

"**In the beginning, I started a shower curtain company making asbestos-laden shower curtains for the military—"**

_**Wait, what?**_** Mel's brow crinkled. Maybe she should have done more research before agreeing to come here.**

"—**But I kept dreaming bigger and better. And you know what? That dreaming became doing. Lots of doing which brought you here. You're riding into the little Michigan town of… uh… wait." The man seemed to be asking someone else in the room, "Where are we again?" Mel could hear that someone muttering incoherently and Cave Johnson replying, "Uh-huh," before turning back to the microphone. "Okay. So, 'there' still doesn't have a name yet as we're the ones who built it, but that doesn't matter. Point is, you're riding there and you'll soon be at Aperture Science Innovators."**

**Mel could see a waterfall out the left-hand side of the train and she leaned against the back window to see it as it disappeared. These spectacles, meager as they were, had already captivated her. Chills crept up and down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold of the tram.**

"**We're still getting some of this stuff together, but there's a lot of science we can do in the meantime. You've been selected from a large group of candidates for a special test in our temporary testing areas," Cave Johnson continued. "When the train arrives at the station, head into the town and into the Aperture Building. Don't worry, you'll know where it is."**

**The outside closed into yet another tunnel and went around a dark bend.**

"**You'll get some more prerecorded messages once you're there. Now, get ready to do some science! For now, though, we're going to put on some nice music for you. Enjoy the ride."**

**Mel leaned back on one of the vertical rails and smiled as the speaker crackled and began to emit music. It was a sweet little tune with a female voice singing. If Aperture Science kept this up with the grand sights and pleasant sounds, it was well on her way to becoming her favorite place.**

**After about half a minute, another station opened up before her. Mel glanced curiously into one of the open windows of a nearby office and was surprised to see a spurt of gunfire, muffled by the walls. Weapon testing? She didn't remember Aperture being a military sponsored organization. Nothing was going wrong, though. There was a scientist standing right next to one of the weapons. Why was it so low to the ground?**

"**Alright," Cave Johnson's voice cut back in again as the train jerked to a halt, making Mel stumble. Luckily she was holding onto the support bar, but it was still an unpleasant jolt. "You're now arriving at Aperture Central Stay-shoon. Wait. Chris, get over here." He was talking to another person again. "How do you spell station? Hmm? Okay, think about that for a second. Okay. Does station have an extra 'o' before the 'i'?"**

**Mel winced a bit as poor Chris was noisily told to pack his bags and get out. What kind of a place was this that fired its employees for a simple spelling error? She felt a little embarrassed as if listening in to a private conversation. **

**But then the place opened up again and she forgot Cave Johnson's words. The train came to the end of the line, the station on her right, and a chain link fence separating an enormous gorge on her left. Mel felt a thrill of excitement as the doors hissed open and she could not repress an excited smile as she disembarked.**

**()-()**

Mel woke with the feeling like she was falling. It took her only a second to recognize her room and calm her thumping heart. _Only a dream_, she reminded herself. _Only a dream._

_About what?_ She closed her eyes in the darkness, trying to remember. Aperture again. That place. That wonderful, terrible, brilliant place. Why was it she always dreamed of Aperture?

Mel swung her head around to look at the clock. 5:03 in the morning. She sighed but rolled obediently out of bed. Once woken, she could not go back to sleep, no matter how dark the night. She had learned that pretty quickly.

She touched the lamp beside her bed and it glowed with a warm radiance, illuminating the small apartment room with its forest green walls and white trim. There were a few pictures hung on the walls in cheap, affordable frames and a tall vase of fake flowers in the corner. Curtains hung over the window. There was not much else.

Mel padded toward the bathroom, her bare feet rustling on the gray carpet, undoing her hair and brushing it out with her fingers. Once at her destination, she stared dolefully at herself in the mirror. She was still tired and the black circles under her eyes showed stark against her pale skin. Her messy red hair streamed over her shoulders in an unkempt, frizzing mess. The smeared remains of the makeup she had somehow neglected to remove from her face made her lips seem like they were bleeding. She could only imagine what it had done to her pillow. In all, she looked like an absolute mess.

With a shake of her head, Mel turned away from her reflection and began to unbutton her nightgown, cranking up the shower to full blast and turning the Artificial Scent Flue dial to roses. Shedding her clothes, she stepped inside and turned her face to the warm water, letting it wash away the sign of sleep.

It was a ritual with Mel to think over the next day's activities while in the shower, thinking up a schedule to prepare herself. First makeup, then breakfast. She would take a Technological Transport (TT for short) to work at 8:00 and work until 5:00. Did she have any leftovers she could take for a lunch break? Yesterday's meat and vegetables would work. Get home, spruce up. What about dinner? Well, Liam would always…

Oh, wait. Liam. Mel winced at the unpleasant recollection. Liam had broken up with her last night. Mel looked down, tapping her toe against the inside of the shower. That's right. He had done one of those movements again, hadn't he? The one where he put his hand over his head, just naturally, maybe for a yawn, and she had freaked out. Dodged as if he was going to hit her, even though he had told her time and time again that he would not.

Now she remembered. They had been dancing. He had raised his hand and she had fallen into a crouch, one hand protecting her face, the other raised as if to ward off a blow. Mel hissed out breath between her teeth as she began to lather her hair. Of course Liam would never hit her. What was she thinking? Stupid reflexes that remembered things she didn't.

And it wasn't only when he raised his hand. Sometimes it was when he touched her, just tapped her on the shoulder, and suddenly she would be up in bristles with no explanation. He might take her arm unexpectedly and she would flinch away. Yes, she would apologize, but it would happen again. And again. As many times as it came.

Last night, Liam had told her that he had had enough. He was tired of tiptoeing around her spontaneous reactions and if she couldn't keep her own reflexes under control, he wasn't sure what else he could do. Mel had tried to communicate with him, but that had led to even more trouble, and he had stomped out, leaving her to figure out a way home.

Surprisingly, Mel reflected, she wasn't too disappointed by his decision. Yes, it was nice to have company, but what good was it if he scared her every time he came around? It wasn't just him, it was every man she tried to get close to. What had happened that made her so afraid of men?

Not for the first time she wracked her brain to remember, her hands moving smoothly as she scrubbed herself down. The night on the train, coming into Aperture, was the first and only intact memory she could recall. The rest of the memories were dim, flickering things which would pop up unexpectedly and peter out before she could analyze them properly. A voice. A touch. The thought of a blurred but angry face. That was all.

The rest she had gathered from clues she had put together and experiences that unlocked evidence. Her friend had told her the most. He probably didn't realize that she didn't remember, but the clues he gave out were the most helpful of all. An olympian, he had said. She smiled as she remembered his words. "You should have gotten that silver medal."

The Nuremburg Olympics. She had done research on them as soon as she could. The name had evoked a flash of excitement, even when she could not connect it to anything else. Running. Running like the wind. A voice speaking loudly. A feeling of triumph, but then crying afterward. No answers to any of these silent questions.

And now… now it was the year 5422, thousands of years later. She had slept for so long, her past had all but evaporated from her mind like water on pavement. Mel turned off the shower and mopped herself off with a towel, putting on dry clothes and brushing her hair, her heart heavy as again the realization sank in that her time, her friends, and whatever family might have existed, was long gone and she could never go back.

Putting down the brush, Mel walked to the front room where her most prized possession stood: her Electric Chordom. The Chordom was an instrument rather like a keyboard that gave out electrical sounds that could be translated to music. Instead of keys, however, there were little metallic pedals that she would push with her fingers, evoking the sounds. Mel smiled as she saw it and sat on the bench, drawing it up close to the Chordom and plugging in the headphones. No need to wake the neighbors at this time of morning.

Closing her eyes, Mel began to stroke the pedals, letting loose a music that no man from her time had ever heard. The melody was sad, wistful, and had a dark undertone. Mel smiled and pushed a little harder, urging the instrument to greater volume. It had not taken her long to learn to play this strange device. She must have known how to play the piano before. Not for the first time, she wished she could sing.

But that was impossible. No sound would ever come from Mel's barren mouth, musical or otherwise. Nothing but hisses between the teeth or strangled gasps. She had tried. Nothing came.

Aperture had not taken her voice from her, she knew. She had been mute long before Aperture had come for her. But what did it matter? She still had music, she still had language in her fingers and in her pen. She had risen up and become an olympian all of her own accord.

Mel pinched her eyes even more tightly closed. _Forget_, she told herself. _Forget for now_. Mel let the music surround her and ignored everything else.

**()-()**

The space port at New Toper was a busy place, especially on a late Friday afternoon. Of all of the docking stations, the one for Flight 18 was the busiest of all. Flight 18 had just arrived from the Ritcher Settlement – one of the wealthier establishments on the planet Mars – and all the passengers were leaving the spaceship in a collective rush. Businessmen, families, and Vortigaunts alike, all were happy to be back on Earth in time for the weekend. They swelled into a tide and swept into the space port, where they moved slower and slower as they progressed, like a river who in its old age realized that there was really no hurry to get to the ocean, so it might as well take its time.

The clump of people who disembarked gradually began to drift away in little streams and eddies, trickling their separate ways as they decided where they were trying to get to. Some people walked off swiftly toward the door. Others went to gather their paraphernalia at the baggage counter, where their luggage had been teleported at the beginning of the flight. (The teleporter was not deemed safe for customers or any 'valuable' belongings. If anybody had any complaints over their luggage opening, spilling, switching to a different case, or any other mysterious happenstances, they should have read the fine print on the Teleportation Agreement page 41a.)

A large chunk of people still remained after the first mad rush had hurried off. These stalled by the large fountain in the middle of the space port and stood looking around, some staring up at the high, glass domed ceiling which let in the last glimmers of the sunset, others looking around for a space port guard or somebody to help them find out where they needed to go next. Still others craned their necks for the sight of a familiar face.

In the most congested clump of humans was one of these latter types. He was a tall man, far taller than anyone else there, but he still stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the person he was most desperate to see. His face wore the expression most would call 'anxiously hopeful', and his wide, protruding eyes, peering through rectangular glasses, bounced about the room as he searched, constantly getting distracted by queer objects or people. His hair was disheveled as if he had been madly ruffling it (he had) and his tie looked as if he had been alternately loosening and tightening it in agitation (that too). There was a strange, circular logo on the pocket of his shirt.

The man held a bag in his hand that he had bought the day before the trip began. It was covered in painted flowers because it had been the cheapest thing he could find on such short notice (it actually wasn't, but he hadn't quite caught the concept of modern cyber currency [three tacks were less than fifteen blips, right?]) and besides, he thought the flowers were really pretty. The tag on his carryon read "Name: Ley, Stephen. Home planet: Earth. Species: Human" in thick black letters. But although 'Ley, Stephen' might have been the name on the bag, most of his friends called him Wheatley. No last name attached. Just Wheatley.

After staring for some time at another knot of people who were coming steadily closer, Wheatley's mouth spread in a wide, openmouthed grin and his hand shot straight up in the air, waving madly and yelling with a European accent that nobody had heard for centuries, "Oi-oi! Chell! Hey, I'm over here! Hello!" He began to wade through the crowd, occasionally tripping over a shorter person as he made his way over.

Similarly, the figure addressed as Chell gave a wave and began to push her way through the crowd to the tall, lanky man who many people were staring at in irritation and/or bewilderment. The person accompanying her, a friendly, good looking man with a short beard and rolled up sleeves, followed closely behind.

Wheatley knocked past a few more people, shouted an apology after them, stumbled a few more steps, dropped his bag, and ran headlong into Chell, giving her a long, hearty hug and nearly popping her head off in his enthusiasm. Chell wrapped her arms around him, for even though he was tall, he was thin as a broomstick, and even though the hug was surprising it was not at all unwelcome.

"It's so great to see you, luv!" Wheatley's words came in a rushing prattle. "I've missed you so much! How- how're you doing? How is everyone? Have I missed anything while I've been gone? I haven't, have I? Ohh, I really hope I haven't missed anything important. Well, too important. Nothing crucial to the production of Aperture. Or anything. I haven't, right?"

Chell almost laughed at being baptized by words within seconds of their encounter. "Everything's fine, Wheatley," she said in the simple, concise way she always said things. "Not much has changed since you left."

"It feels like bloody years, though, doesn't it," Wheatley exclaimed, waving the flowery bag around in one hand and rumpling his hair with the other. "I mean, I can't have been gone much over a month, but it feels like I haven't seen you in… forever!" He clasped her tight in a one-armed hug before letting her go again and inspecting her closely. Even though both of them were grown up and relatively the same age, she would always be the brilliant little girl from the testing track to him.

Chell looked good. That much he could see from a single glance. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and she had silver clips holding back her long bangs. The pearl necklace accentuated her striking gray eyes. And, Wheatley noticed with some surprise, she was wearing a dress. He had never seen Chell wear a dress before. Yes, granted, he didn't expect her to waltz around in a jumpsuit everywhere, but it was still a bit of a shock.

Chell reached back and pulled her companion forward. The man had been hanging back during the reunion and Wheatley had not noticed him. Now he did, with an even larger bout of surprise. "Wheatley, this is Jack." Chell gave the red-haired man a smile and – could he have imagined it? – the tiniest hint of a blush. "My boyfriend."

Wheatley almost openly gaped. So, this was Jack, was it? Chell had told him about Jack, sure, but he seemed so much more real when standing right before him.

"Jack," Chell continued, "this is Doctor Ley. One of my oldest friends."

"Call- call me Wheatley." Wheatley shook off his shock, fumbled the carryon bag, and shook Jack's hand, smiling but scrutinizing him more carefully than any father would have.

Jack was a tall man, but not nearly as tall as Wheatley. He had muscle definition that would be more suited to a lumberjack, but hands that were deft in whatever work he put them to. He had a short, orangish beard, twinkling eyes, and a genuine smile that made anybody transfixed by it immediately want to like him. Wheatley was trapped in his firm handshake before he could pull away.

"So, you're Wheatley," Jack exclaimed, his smile becoming even brighter. "I'm so honored to meet you. Chell keeps talking about her Doctor Ley."

"Well, cheers getting her to talk, mate," Wheatley chuckled, wringing feeling back into his hands. "She doesn't do that nearly enough."

"It's good they've got you, then." Jack waved his hand and began to lead the way to the luggage pickup area. "I've seen you on the Viewscreen talking about Aperture. You have a natural gift for the camera."

"Do I?" Wheatley perked up a bit. "I mean, I do like to talk for people, but… don't know if I'm what you call 'naturally gifted' at… at anything. Not saying that I'm not, not saying anything like that. Just, you know. Working away at it. Doing my job."

As he talked, he waved his hands around, nearly braining the people passing by so they saw stars (and possibly flowers, depending if they were on the side with the bag).

Wheatley had been traveling from place to place answering the endless questions about Aperture Facilities. Chell and Rattmann would not say anything in front of a camera and Caroline was too busy most of the time. They had gifted the job to Wheatley who went at it with all the enthusiasm his optimism afforded him. Namely, almost limitless.

Wheatley had spent the last two months being questioned, probed for information, and asked about his time as a robot. Wheatley loved to talk. Absolutely loved it. Some people had difficulty getting him to stop talking. As fun as it was, being able to talk all you wanted and everybody liking it for once, Wheatley had to admit that it was tiring. He was glad that it was over.

"You will not believe some of the things these future people ask. The cheek!" he huffed, pulling his black suitcase out of the pile and inspecting the contents. "Oh, look at that. My clothes are all unfolded again and I'm sure I had them folded before we left. Bother teleportation. I'm never going through one of those things myself, I can tell you. Anyway," he snapped the case shut and began to roll it through the space port. "I was in this one place, somewhere in Asia or someplace like that – lots of fireworks going on all night, couldn't sleep a wink – and they started bringing up people straight out of the audience to ask questions. It's good, it's fine, I like questions as long as they're nice ones. But then this girl comes up to the mic and starts asking me this… bizarre, really random stuff!"

"What kind of bizarre, random stuff?" asked Jack, taking the suitcase and rolling it for him.

Wheatley squirmed. "Just… you know… how I was once a robot… and how I'm not now… and how it's different." A pink flush crept to his ears. "Different-bodily-functions-I-might-or-might-not-have-a-hold-on-because-I've-been-out-of-practice-and-that-sort-of-thing," he finished in a rush.

"Oh," winced Jack and Chell cringed.

"I know!" exclaimed Wheatley. "I could hardly believe she had even thought that, much less said it out loud! I mean, don't you future-y people have any sort of stopper on your mouths? You should think before you speak, that's all I'm saying."

Chell thought that he should be one to talk, but she didn't say it out loud. She had a pretty decent stopper herself.

"So, anyway, crowd goes wild and I'm sitting up there like a big idiot with my mouth hanging open feeling everything go all hot and it goes on for ages and ages and I don't know what to do. Finally they stop the program 'cause I don't answer, but it doesn't make anything any better. I had enough trouble getting a girl to notice me way back when, but now I have them practically throwing themselves at me just because I'm famous. And not the nice girls, either! Really kind of… scary girls, aren't they? The ones your mum always told you to watch out for. It's just… really confusing."

Jack chuckled, opening the door for them to exit. "Welcome to the life of a celebrity, Wheatley."

"Whew, kind of nippy out here, isn't it," Wheatley laughed, rubbing at his arms. "Um… hold on a second, where're we going?"

"Jack and I are taking you out for dinner," said Chell.

"Oh, really?" Wheatley beamed. "Well, isn't that nice of you."

"Here. Hop in." Jack held open the hovercar door for Wheatley to squeeze inside. "We'll take you back to your apartment afterwards too, okay?"

Wheatley scrunched, his head brushing the ceiling. "Thanks, much obliged, mate," he huffed, trying to wriggle into a better position.

Jack took the wheel and Chell the front passenger seat. She twisted around every so often to see how Wheatley was getting on, mostly remaining silent while Jack and Wheatley talked. Jack had a gift for conversation and there was never an awkward pause. As for Wheatley, well, he had been away for enough time to stockpile a whole armada of stories to fill the time.

Halfway through his story about wearing the Visual Simulation Headset on his way to Mars for the first time – airplanes were bad enough, but for spaceships he needed a distraction – and how they eventually took it away because he was being too loud for the other passengers, exclaiming about how detailed the virtual reality world was, Wheatley realized that he was really happy. He knew that there was a difference between hopeless optimism and genuine happiness and this was definitely the latter. Just having them – well, at least Chell, really – sitting there just listening to him talk made him wish that the moment would go on forever.

_Just like old times_, he thought, and then winced as painful memories crashed in.

_Ohh. Just thinking back to the old times, the old days when we were friends, good old friends. Not enemies! And I'd say something like 'come back' and you'd be like 'yeah, no problem' and you'd come back. What happened to those days?_

Wheatley jumped and glanced guiltily at his companions as if the thoughts had been spoken out loud, but neither seemed to notice. His prattling skipped a beat and the happy feeling died away. _I am sorry_, he thought yet again toward the back of Chell's head. _You have no idea how sorry I still am to you._

Then Chell turned around and Wheatley scrambled to pick up the slack on his story. "So, anyway, the bloke was like, 'c'mon, give it to me, why don't you?' and then I was like, 'nononono, c'mon, mate, I need this. I get serious anxiety issues from just looking at the moon. Spent way too much time looking at it in space. I actually physically need it.' And then he was like—"

Chell smiled and leaned her cheek against the headrest, watching Wheatley's animated gestures and listening to his wild words. _Just like old times_, she thought, but the only memories this roused for her were good ones.


	2. Chapter 2: The Invitation

**Chapter Two**

**The Invitation**

The restaurant Jack and Chell took Wheatley to was a nice place with crystal chandeliers and Vortigaunt servers in black jackets. Wheatley immediately felt overtall and underdressed – you knew it was a nice place when the Vortigaunts wore clothes – but Chell took him by the arm and led him in, so he had no choice but to stumble in after her. He ordered something extravagant just to show off then spent the rest of the meal talking about how he had no idea what it was, but it tasted delicious. Chell conveyed to Jack with her eyes that he should under no circumstances tell Wheatley what it was he had ordered. Jack obliged, but there was a definite twinkle in his eye as he recommended the red sauce to go with the mysterious dish.

There was something different about Chell, Wheatley came to realize as Jack turned to talk to her. Not just that she was wearing a dress, although that was extraordinary in itself. He took some time to scrutinize her in between mouthfuls. Not the dress. Not the pearls. Not the new way her hair was done.

Ah. There it was. It was the slight flush of color in her cheeks, the way her mouth was almost always curving upward. Why, Wheatley realized with a pleasant start, Chell was happy! He had rarely seen her happy in Aperture, and never a good happy. He had seen a kind of evil sort of pleasure in her when she started smashing his screens and destroying everything in sight. But this was completely different. For whatever reason, she was actually honest to goodness pleased with everything that was going on around her.

_Well, good on her_, Wheatley thought, nodding but keeping his observation to himself. He dug his fork back into his plate. _'Bout time she was happy about something._

Chell was done with her food first and left the table to take advantage of the facilities. Both men watched her as she left.

"She is absolutely beautiful, isn't she?" remarked Jack, looking after her with a smile.

"Mmm," answered Wheatley, picking at his food with a tine of his fork, trying to uncover its hidden mysteries. "I suppose she is, yeah. In a… yeah, in a fashion."

"You know, some people around who are keeping up to tabs on Aperture seem to think that you and Chell are a thing," Jack said slyly.

Wheatley choked. "A what?" he exclaimed far too loudly. His voice went high in agitation. "No! No, absolutely not! We're just… friends! That's all, just friends! Oh, for God's… what have these people been reading that they think that? There has never ever _ever_ been anything at all between me and Chell. Seriously, who do they think they are? She's just a little girl, she's not—well, not now, obviously, she's not a little girl now. But she was, wasn't she? Back when we first met, and if they think we're some kind of-"

"Wheatley, Wheatley, calm down," Jack interjected, laughing but looking a bit startled. "I never thought that of you. I was just saying what some people think just to give you a heads-up."

"Well, I think they're all bloody loonies," Wheatley muttered, still miffed. "Thinking that about me and Chell. Honestly."

"I quite agree," said Jack. "Chell's told me a lot about you, and although she doesn't speak much, I know enough about her to read beyond her words. She likes you. She cares about you, but it's never been a romantic way. She thinks of you like a… guardian, of sorts."

Wheatley grinned down into his lap and felt his ears go hot. "She does, doesn't she? That's… that's a very nice thing to say."

"I believe it," Jack said. "Every word I just said. However, it also means that I need to talk to you about Chell."

"What?" Wheatley felt the first predecessors of alarm. He looked up from his plate, mouth stretched in an almost-but-not-quite anxious smile. His whole body went tense. "Wh- what do you mean by that? She's alright, isn't she?"

"Oh, yeah! Yeah, she's fine, don't worry. It's just…" Jack lowered his eyes and moved his chair a little closer. "Listen, you know her pretty well and you've known her a lot longer than I have."

Wheatley wasn't sure if this was true since periods of forgetfulness caused by brain transfers couldn't really be counted in the final tally, but he was willing to go with it for the sake of curiosity.

Jack took a deep breath. "Do you know… how does she cope with change?"

"Ch-change?" Wheatley had no idea where this was going. "What do you mean by that? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Alright, let's put it another way." Jack looked genuinely nervous, his typical composure gone. He rubbed his forehead, refusing to make eye contact. "I've been thinking a lot about her and me… together."

Alarms began to blare in Wheatley's head. Oh, he remembered that line. He didn't remember who gave it to him, but there was a definite memory, long suppressed in his mind with a woman's voice going, "Look, I've been thinking a lot about our relationship," and he knew where that went. Jack was going to break up with Chell! He knew it, he knew that guy was bad news! With his slick words and silvery, snakelike tongue. He should have seen it coming.

"Oh, you have, have you?" Wheatley said icily.

"I know, I know," Jack said, sensing the shift in Wheatley's tone. "She's your little girl and you want to do what's best for her, I get that."

Wheatley was boiling. Why didn't the man have the decency to look up and be chagrinned by the blazing red-hot anger lasers in his eyes? He had no right to be so nervous about dumping Chell! Why, he wanted to… wanted to…

_Holmes verses Moriarty. Aristotle verses MASHY SPIKE PLATE!_

Wheatley shook the thought away, but stored the idea for later. Depending on how this went, he might need a mashy spike plate.

"I just thought I should ask you first. You're the closest thing she has to a father and… she's kind of old fashioned and I thought it would mean something to her if I got your blessing first."

"Your bl—" Wheatley began to sputter, but then stopped because Jack was holding something just beneath table level, just high enough so that only Wheatley could see. A little black box with a plain silver ring inside. For a moment, Wheatley was utterly stupefied, completely lost for words. Then his body caught up with his mind and all the water glasses jumped an inch as his legs hit the underside of the table. "That's a ring," he whispered, voice high. He pointed at it as if doubting its reality. "You- you've got a ring… right there…"

"We've only been dating for a few months," said Jack, stroking the side of the box with his finger, "but I knew her on Mars for some time. She was afraid, she had a lot of emotional baggage with her, but still I knew… I knew that if she would ever let me in…"

"You… you love her!" exclaimed Wheatley in a hushed voice. "You- you seriously… honestly love her?"

"Of course I love her," Jack said, and he met Wheatley's startled eyes again. He smiled, and although he was a full-grown man, there was a boyish excitement in his look. "She's the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing woman in the universe. She has such tenacity and courage and strength, I've never seen anything like it in anyone else before. The perfect partner. I just hope I'll be worthy of her. I left Mars to be with her, got a new job at one of the bars in New Toper. It pays pretty well. Soon I'll be able to afford a house. That is… if she says yes. What… what do you think?" Jack looked up at Wheatley almost timidly.

Wheatley felt warmth flood his insides. It wasn't the kind of warmth that came from being asked embarrassing questions, but a new, wonderful kind of warmth that started somewhere in the chest region and spread out all through his body, making it tingle. Maybe this fellow wasn't so bad after all.

"You know what?" he said. "I would go for it. There's my blessing, right there, bam. There you have it. Consider yourself blessed."

"Really?" asked Jack, huffing a laugh.

"Seriously! I'm genuinely being serious here. Cross my heart – I've got one of those now, so I can do that, you know. She's happy with you, honestly, I've seen the way she looks at you! Her cheeks get all pink and she gets really pretty and… just- just go for it, mate. That's my advice, just… wing it." He swung his fist through the air. "Just like that."

"My only problem is," Jack said thoughtfully, closing the box and putting it back in his pocket, "Chell is pretty closed about her past. Even now I don't know much. I know she's had hard experiences. She's told me about Caroline once being GLaDOS and… other things."

"Has she said anything about me?" Wheatley asked, becoming defensive again.

Jack shook his head. "No. I know there's something, but she said it was up to you if you wanted to tell me."

Wheatley relaxed again. Chell was defending him. That was nice.

"I know some things, but she will never tell me how much she went through," Jack continued. "I feel like it's a crucial part of our relationship that I know what Aperture did to her so that I can help her, if it comes to that."

"Ooh. Right. Good- good point. Ah…" Wheatley screwed up his face in thought, then his eyebrows shot upwards in revelation. "Ooh! Brainwave! How about you come down to Aperture tomorrow? Hey? Chell and I are going down there for some sort of meeting, anyway, and what if you could join us? You could see where she works, where it all began. Come on. You know you want to." Wheatley gave an encouraging grin.

Jack looked surprised, but laughed readily. "Yeah," he exclaimed. "If you would have me, yeah! It'd be great if I could join you!"

"Great! It's all settled, then!" Wheatley rubbed his hands together. "Oh, man alive, this is going to be great!"

Chell came back to the table and Wheatley waved madly at her. "Hey, Chell! Jack here's coming with us tomorrow. He wants to check out Aperture!"

"If you're alright with that," added Jack.

"Yes, of course," Wheatley amended. "Only if you're alright with it, luv."

Chell looked a little startled to see the companionship that had blossomed in her absence, but she nodded. "Of course," she said, sitting down again. "I think that's a very good idea."

Jack smiled at her, then nodded a silent thanks to Wheatley.

"I think it will be fun," Wheatley said stoutly, then twirled his fork around a stray bit of meat, examining it closely. "Okay, is anybody going to tell me what this is? Because I'm putting my bets on chicken, if I'm honest. I think that's what it is."

Chell looked at Jack again, raising one eyebrow. _Not a word_, she commanded silently.

**()-()**

**The elevator coasted to a stop at the bottom of the truly lengthy shaft and Mel stepped out numbly. Her mind was still preoccupied by what she had seen. Spheres. Several enormous metal spheres suspended by supports so that they hovered over the awe-inspiring depths. "This salt mine here can take about ten of these bad boys – per shaft!" Cave Johnson had said over the intercom on her way down. "Nine shafts, nine tests."**

**She found it incredible that one company with limited funds could come up with ideas that were so amazing as this. The imagination was one thing. Actually making it into reality – the initiative involved – was something different.**

**However, the knowledge that this was built in an unsteady salt mine did make her uneasy. She resolved not to touch the walls. Or step too hard. And to pray as often as possible.**

"**So," Cave Johnson's voice boomed as one of the large hazard doors slid open. "As I said on the last prerecorded message, you'll be heading to an Aperture Science Innovators Extended Relaxation Vault for a quick deep sleep. And then you're done! That's why we brought you here at night. You're most likely a walking zombie."**

**Mel yawned involuntarily.**

"**That'll give us the best results. But just remember, don't sleep too long. This isn't a bed and breakfast. And if you try to stay the night, I'm charging a rent for the next year."**

**Mel had started walking into the next area as soon as the door opened. She moved slowly, inspecting everything. The office building in the center was surrounded by nicely trimmed grass. Trees spiked up strategically here and there and cobblestone paths led to the building. It was strange to see growing plants so far down, Mel mused to herself.**

**An underground river, swift and dark, ran along the side of the cavern. Its lapping waters slapped against the grassy bank, but Mel had no desire to touch it. She walked up a couple stairs and leaned against the railing, staring off into the misty catacomb of stalagmites and stalactites only barely visible upstream.**

"**We have a bed ready for you," concluded Cave Johnson. "Just follow the testing area signs and go to bed. Don't mind the turrets. They're firing blanks. Least that's what Crazy Harry told me. Had six science boys disappear because of him."**

**With a disbelieving look at the cavern ceiling, Mel pushed off the rail and headed back toward the building. Inside was yet another lobby, much like the others, with red carpets leading to every door, a counter with no one behind it, and several unexplained jukeboxes hidden in corners. Mel peeked through some of the open doors before heading toward the one marked 'Test Subject Waiting Area'. Another hallway later, she learned what Cave Johnson meant by turrets.**

**There were three of them, formed of wood and metal, their red laser sights peering dead ahead, standing rigidly to attention like soldiers. They were roped off and the sign near them proclaimed '**_**please do not touch**_**'.**

"**Don't worry, those turrets won't kill you," Cave Johnson's voice boomed again. "The safety on their guns is on. Had some lab boys shut them down." Then there was another muttered comment about Crazy Harry.**

**Even with Cave Johnson's reassurances, Mel still had the urge to jump over the sight beams to get to the door. She resisted and forced herself to walk right past. The turrets never even twitched.**

**The next door led to a room filled to the top with Relaxation Pods. They were stacked one on top of another, although if they were empty or full, Mel could not tell. Only one sat in the very center of the floor. The yellow paint on the ground in front of it read 'Docking Station 003'.**

**Mel let out a deep breath. End of the line.**

**She entered the pod and the door swung shut behind her. The inside of the pod was very simply decorated with paneled walls, a single poster, carpet, a picture of Cave Johnson, and a capsule, which opened as she came nearer, extending a thin plank-like mattress with a pillow. Her bed, presumably.**

"**If you're hearing this message," Cave Johnson's final recording started, "you're at the sleeping chamber. Caroline, is the test ready?"**

"**Yes sir, Mr. Johnson." **

**The voice startled Mel. Besides Chris' muted words, she had heard no other voice except for Cave Johnson's in the prerecorded messages. The woman's voice was an unexpected sound, eager and helpful, sounding quite young. Now that she thought about it, Mel remembered seeing a picture labeled 'Caroline' in one of the lobbies behind the desk.**

"**Then you're good to go," finished Cave Johnson. "Step into the chamber and get into the bed. Our lab boys will take care of the rest."**

**The first pang of fear hit Mel in the chest, but she obediently went over to the bed and swung herself on, settling into a mummy-like position, facing upward with her hands folded on her stomach. The bed retracted into the capsule and the last shreds of outside light disappeared. The only light came from a small black-and-white television screen which consolingly shone the words '**_**good night**_**'. **

**Mel heard many clicks of machinery and a slow hiss that filled the capsule. She smelled something metallic in the air and her vision began to blur. She felt light. Lighter than air. But her eyelids were heavy enough to anchor her to the ground. She let them slip closed, her head slumping to the side. Within seconds, Mel was asleep.**

**She slept deeply. So deeply nothing could wake her. Not the flashing red lights. Not the alarms. Not the smell of smoke or the crackle of electricity. Not the shouting of Cave Johnson or his lab boys trying to get her out. Mel heard it, of course, and maybe saw the lights through her eyelids, but she was too deeply under to pay attention. To her it was simply a dream.**

**()-()**

Mel rubbed her eyes as she stumbled into her apartment. It had been a long day. Work had exhausted her physically and mentally and now all she wanted to do was flop.

Mel had been brought to the hospital directly after her escape. The toxins that had leached into her bloodstream were drawn back out again and she had been put into rehabilitation for many months. When she left, the doctors and nurses had done their best to find her a job. She had decided on sports, insisting on that vocation despite the doctors' forebodings. So, a career in sports she pursued.

She had once been an olympian and although it had taken a bit of training to give her back the physique she had once had, she knew that it was the line of work she still loved. Running, jumping, throwing, pushing weights, all of these felt familiar and it did not take her long to find the accustomed pattern.

The sport of Hangball was a new one to Mel, but she had grasped it pretty quickly. It was like a mix of baseball and basketball in null gravity, played in a transparent sphere so that the teams could play in three dimensions. The goal was fairly simple: hit the ball into a hoop using a bat or your hands. More points were awarded if the bat was used. The points were counted on a large overhead panel, collected with the digital chips inserted into the team uniforms and their bats.

Mel was not one of the official team members yet. Sometimes she was allowed to play during practice, but mostly her job consisted of chasing after the ball when it went out of bounds and throwing it back into play. The ball was hard and she had a good sized bruise on her leg from where it had hit her. She limped over to sit down and slapped ice on her bruise, hissing in pain.

And chasing the ball was only half the exhaustion, she thought, massaging the sore area. That was only the physical part. The mental part came from something she could not help: her lack of voice.

They teased her, she recalled, prodding the bruise a little more in irritation. She would communicate as best she could using a paper pad and the pen she always kept in her pocket, but in the end she was always too slow. "What?" they would say, holding their hands up to their ears and grinning. "Sorry, Mel, couldn't hear you."

It was all in fun, of course. Most of them liked her, and none of them meant it to hurt, but it did sometimes. Mel tried to smile along with them, but it was annoying.

At the end of the practice, Coach Granbul had come up to her and drawn her away from the others. "Mel," he had said, "I'm going to be straight with you. You need to find another way to communicate. The pen and paper thing just isn't working."

Mel whipped it out and tried to scribble an answer, but he pushed it down.

"I know, I know," Coach Granbul said, his gruff voice lowered. "I wish it did work, but it just doesn't. Okay? Listen, if you found out another way – anything else – that was faster than pen and paper, I would put you on the team immediately. You're a great player, Mel, and we're all lucky to have you. It's just…" He stopped and sighed. "Look, just think about it, okay? I'll think of some solutions myself, you tell me yours, and we will make this work. I don't want to lose you."

Mel had swallowed and nodded, but she had felt her ears go red, mostly with irritation. _If they would just learn sign language_, she thought to herself, snapping back to the present and readjusting the ice pack. She had suggested it before, but Coach Granbul had shot her down.

"We shouldn't have to learn a whole new language just for one player," he had explained to her, brushing back his silvering hair. "The team sacrifices for one another, yes, but… listen, if a really good athlete came from another country to be on our team, but he didn't know how to speak English, we would get him a translator. Same thing here."

And therein lay the problem. Sign language was one of the things in this new world that had died out with the old. Mel blamed it on eugenics. When that horrible practice had arisen of checking the unborn fetus' DNA for divergences, one of the so-called 'weaknesses' that had been cut out was muteness. All the unborn children that would be born mute were snuffed out before birth and the budding life replaced by a new surgically implanted fertilized egg. If at first you don't succeed—

Mel was sickened by the practice. Killing babies, even unborn ones, stood against everything she believed in. She promised herself that should she ever become pregnant – which seemed unlikely, given her past performances with men – she would stay as far away from those clinics as possible, at least until there was a good, steady heartbeat to give her a solid argument.

As it was, humanity had come into a developmental depression, so maybe Mel had the last laugh. They had killed off their left-handed Da Vinci and now they needed to live without him.

In addition, Mel always had the horrible thought that she never would have been born in that era. She would have been killed in the womb, replaced by a brother or sister she would never know. To die was one thing, but to die without having a chance to live? It seemed like the basest cruelty.

In an effort to numb her mind and block out the unhelpful thoughts, Mel turned on the Viewscreen. The Viewscreen was the most recent and evolved version of the television, images popping out of the screen in 3D – no glasses needed – with a touch-screen and bright, vivid color that made you feel as if you were fully immersed in the world you saw beyond the screen. It also had a voice activation feature, but it meant nothing to Mel.

Mel very rarely turned on the Viewscreen. Coming from an era where Clark Gable waltzed across the black-and-white screen in a movie theater, skipping over everything else, and being plopped into the year 5418 where the newest version of the Viewscreen knew your favorite shows and adapted to your schedule was a tad bit unnerving. Mel preferred to take it slow.

And besides that, Mel had a large gap of history she had skipped over. It was like being in school all over again, except this time she wanted to know the history she had missed. Recent events held very little charm for her. She had three thousand years to study. Why worry about current news?

But this was a special occasion. Mel knew none of the channels, so she picked one at random. It happened to be an interview. She settled back against the couch to watch, wishing she had somebody to watch it with her. Liam was gone, true, and she wasn't too upset about that, but it would have been nice if there was somebody to greet her when she came home. Maybe she should get a cat. Or a koala. Who knew koalas would become such a prominent pet in the future? She shook the thought away and sank further into the couch.

And then she sat bolt upright, eyes wide and ears questioning if they had heard correctly. But yes. There could be no deception. That man there, the man on the Viewscreen… he was talking about Aperture!

The interview was taking place on Mars, so it was probably a few hours – if not a few days – old. (People on Mars! Mel still couldn't get over it!) The man being interviewed was a helter-skelter, gangly fellow with nervous hands, tousled hair, bugging eyes, and a pasted-on grin that was so wide it seemed to want to escape his face. He had an accent Mel had not heard in years. An undeniably British accent. It was music to her ears.

The man was named Stephen Ley, although he requested he be called Wheatley. He had come from Aperture, he claimed. Aperture's owner, Caroline, had been trapped inside a robotic form for thousands of years, but a woman named Chell and a man named Doug Rattmann had set her free. Now they were rebuilding Aperture. It would be a better place than it had been, and he was going to help.

Chills streaked up and down Mel's spine as she absorbed this information. The Viewscreen flashed images as the man talked, showing pictures of the people he talked about. Caroline, a tall, thin woman with a determined smile. Doug Rattmann, a short, dark haired man slouching over a computer. Wheatley with smile so wide it was almost scary giving a thumbs-up to the camera. Chell, a gray-eyed woman who looked like she did not want to be photographed.

"Chell is seriously amazing," Wheatley was saying, his hands flapping about as he talked. "I mean, honestly, most of us would not have survived without her. I'm saying that honestly. She- she's the most incredible, smartest, brainiest lady on the planet. On both planets, both Earth and Mars. As- as far as I know, you know. Might be smarter somewhere out there, another brainy lady who's just as smart as Chell, but I don't know where she'd be. I don't think she exists."

Mel smiled. At least this fellow was frank about his affections.

Wheatley went on to talk about Aperture's past inventions, putting great emphasis on the Handheld Portal Device. The picture they showed was of a sleek, white portal gun that looked far more technologically advanced than the one Mel had held. There was also a short video of Chell – unwillingly – displaying the Long-Fall Boots, which were also different than Mel's.

"And – get this, you're going to like this one –" Wheatley added, crossing his long legs one over another, "Aperture even found a way of putting a human's mind into a machine!"

"Really?" asked the show's host, a pale man in a red suit. He seemed mightily impressed. "How does that work?"

"I… ah… I don't really know all the sciency details," Wheatley said with a chuckle, "but it is really complicated. And I mean seriously really _really_ complicated – I don't even know the half of it! See, way back when the original owner of the company died, they took Caroline, who was sort of his second in command, right hand gal and everything, and they crammed her into this system that they called 'GLaDOS'. That stands for something, but I don't remember what. So, when they put Caroline into GLaDOS, she's really angry. Not happy about that at all. So that's what the system picks up. Nothing good happens after that, the whole place falls into disrepair, and Aperture basically vanishes off the face of the map."

"Fascinating," roared the host, and the watching audience clapped in approval.

"And not only Her was a robot," added Wheatley with even more enthusiasm than before. "Since they couldn't control what Caroline became, they tried to think of ways to keep Her contained. 'Course, there's no easy way to do that, so they attached these things called 'cores' to Her in hopes that their programmed personality would change the way She acted. None of 'em worked that good, though, so – guess what – they decided to put _another_ human into a robot to counteract the first one! Like that didn't give them enough trouble the first time. So, they took another human to put into a core to try and slow down GLaDOS, and – hey – it was me!" Wheatley said this like it was the best surprise ever. "They put me into a robot!"

"That is truly incredible," exclaimed the host. "Tell us more about it."

"I didn't remember I was human," said Wheatley. "Those scientists wanted to erase my memories, all of those human ones that I used to have, but Doug Rattmann" – he always said that like it was one word, not two names: _Dougrattmann_ – "made sure that I still had them, but all locked up. Um… so… I- I tried to remember my name during the transfer, but it didn't come over right. I kept trying to remember 'my name is Ley', but for some reason it got all muddled and by the time I woke up as a core, I thought my name was Wheatley, not Ley."

There was an appreciative bellow of laughter from the audience and the host clapped Wheatley on the shoulder. "I always have trouble with names," the host confided.

"Not that much, I hope," Wheatley answered, biting his lip but still grinning. "B'cause that would… um, that would be a bit of a problem."

"So, what personality did you give the core to slow down GLaDOS?"

Wheatley's smile froze and Mel saw him squirm. "Ah, I… um…"

"I bet it was your way with the ladies," the host suggested, raising his eyebrows and nodding. "You were supposed to distract Her, you handsome devil."

Wheatley flushed right up to his hairline as the host and the audience laughed again. He chuckled along with them, but he looked mightily uncomfortable. Mel couldn't help wondering what his core had been designed to do. Something embarrassing?

The host switched the topic after finishing his laugh, asking Wheatley about his transformation back to humanity. Wheatley, obviously relieved, told about Chell and Rattmann's deep sleeps in the Relaxation Center, how he had woken Chell up and helped her to escape, not remembering that he had once known her as a little girl. He admitted that he had accidentally woken up GLaDOS, who had been defeated by Chell thousands of years earlier, and GLaDOS had put Chell back into testing.

"But I got back to her," Wheatley added. "Did everything I could to get her out of there. Made up a whole plan about how we would take down Her defenses, then come right at Her, take Her out head-on."

This sounded familiar, Mel thought, and found herself absorbed in the story.

"However, it didn't go… um… didn't go exactly to… to plan, and…" Wheatley was fidgeting again, his smile strained. "Well, Chell got out alright, so that part went well, but… I kind of got put into space."

"Is that code for something?" the host asked, confused.

"No, I mean it seriously! A portal got shot at the moon and everything – including me – was sucked – shoop! – right out of the room. I was floating out there for bloody ages until my battery ran out. I'd still be out there today, but this spaceship came by and brought me to this fella named Oscar Thomas. He looked inside my memory banks, saw what was in there, and found Chell to tell her that there were humans still alive in Aperture. We thought they were all dead – I thought they were all dead, but nope. No, there was a whole other area stock-full of humans! I mean, it _was_ full of humans – She had got to them first – but nobody knew that at the time."

He went on to tell about Mr. Thomas' trap, how what he really wanted was to get at GLaDOS to bring back to the surface, and how he had sent an unwitting Chell, guided by Wheatley, with the excuse that humans needed saving.

Mel leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Mr. Thomas. Yes, she knew that name. She remembered that man.

When she was in the hospital, detoxing all the chemicals in her system, she had told the doctors about her time in Aperture. They hadn't believed her, saying that it was a result of damage sustained to the brain, but their tune had changed when they looked at her blood. "Do you see this number?" they had asked her. "That's your blood's physical age. It says that you are thousands of years old."

_That's what I was trying to tell you_, Mel scribbled savagely. What, did they think that all of those events she told them were fairy stories? That the bullet wounds in her side were imaginary? That the logo on her jumpsuit had been hot-ironed on as a joke?

They had admitted Mr. Thomas into her room, one day. "For a chat," they said. He was a dark, broad-shouldered man with a briefcase in one hand. She wrote down her story on paper and he spent a long time reading it. "Aperture Facility?" he asked.

She nodded.

"That was a very long time ago."

She nodded again.

"I have to do some research on this," he had said, and left, taking his papers with him.

A few weeks later, he was back. "Aperture Science Innovators was an amazing place," he told her, "filled with the most brilliant scientists the twentieth century had ever known. Some of their technology even surpasses our own. They were willing to suspend the laws of morality to accomplish what needed to be done. Not an admirable sentiment, but an effective one."

He looked down at his clasped hands. "I was wondering, Miss Mel, if you would be interested in conducting an expedition into the facility. When you have fully recovered, of course. That place holds many treasures, and even a dead facility is a wonder to behold."

Mel picked up her paper. _Not dead_, she wrote, and underlined it twice.

"Not dead," repeated Mr. Thomas. "You mean, it is still operational?"

_Something is in charge_, Mel wrote. _Virgil told me. Too dangerous to go back._

"Virgil?" Mr. Thomas questioned.

_My friend_, Mel wrote simply.

"And do you trust this… friend?"

_I do._

"You believe it is too dangerous to go down there?"

Mel simply nodded.

"You have no guide? No map to lead the way?"

Mel shook her head.

"You will not be convinced to go back?" Mr. Thomas probed gently. "Even for the advancement of science? You know the way better than any of us. Is there nothing we can do to persuade you?"

Mel picked up her pad and with her mouth tightly sealed wrote, _I would not touch an active explosive._

Mr. Thomas had left disappointed, Mel remembered. She had felt sorry that she could not help, but no more. According to Wheatley, Mr. Thomas had wanted GLaDOS all along. Even Mel had enough sense to know that that was a bad idea.

Wheatley rattled on, talking about how they found Doug Rattman, how Mr. Thomas' plan didn't work, and how Chell was trapped back in testing.

"And then," concluded Wheatley, "Doug Rattmann gave me back my human-y memories and we had Chell take down GLaDOS. Um, a- again. So, Doug Rattmann also found my old human body and dumped me back in so I could help Chell with GLaDOS, and once we took Her down, we separated all the old Caroline memories, found Caroline's old body, and brought Caroline back! Now she's back here with us, GLaDOS is gone, and now we're rebuilding Aperture. The right way. That- that's what Caroline always says. That's what she'd say if she were here."

"So, could the whole human/robot transfer happen again?" asked the host.

Wheatley looked horrified. "Oh, nonononono, mate. You do _not_ want that to happen. Caroline deleted all the information on that, anyway, so… no. Just… yeah, just no. Can't be done."

"Were the two of you the only transfers?" the host asked next. "Or was everything in the facility once the mind of a human?"

"Ooh, that's an interesting thought," said Wheatley, momentarily distracted. "But, no. I'd go with no. Wouldn't bet money on it. Like I said, it's a really tricky procedure, spends a lot more money, takes a lot of time. No, as- as far as I know, Caroline and I… we were the only ones. The other cores around the facility are… well, I wouldn't say dim, but… they were only programmed with one function. Like anger or- or adventure, or space. Yeah, definitely space. But my point is, they only had one function. Just one. And they couldn't think outside of that one thing, couldn't bother them less. I don't want to brag, but I've never met another core as complicated as myself so… I'd still go with no, if I'm honest."

"No it is," exclaimed the host. He turned to the camera, smiling with dazzling white teeth. "That's all the time we have for this session. Wheatley, thank you for your time. This is the Mars Ritcher Settlement signing off. Goodnight, Earth." Commercials began to play.

Mel turned off the Viewscreen with the push of a button and sat in the dark, staring at nothing. The cores were only programmed with one function. "I've never met another core as complicated as myself," Wheatley had said. But she had. If Wheatley had been the same way as a core and as a human… if he had been like that…

Mel let out a shuddery breath. Was it possible? If they had done the procedure once with GLaDOS and once again with Wheatley, what had stopped them from doing it again? Or, who said that GLaDOS was the first? Perhaps there was another.

Her mind suddenly buzzing with ideas and speculations, Mel rose from the couch and trotted to her room. Kneeling, she pulled out a box from underneath her bed and opened the lid. She had not opened the box for years, but now was the time to display its contents yet again.

The first object in the box was a pair of Long-Fall Boots. They were not sleek like the ones on the Viewscreen, but a dull, coppery metal, covered in verdigris in some spots, with a retractable piston attached to each heel to cushion impact. Mel fingered the left boot for a while, then set them both aside.

Next, Mel pulled out her jumpsuit. It had been four years since she had last worn it, but the material was still pliant to her fingers. She flipped it around until she found the circular logo of Aperture Facilities. Her heart gave a funny sort of leap as she recognized the familiar shape and thought of the optic that shared that same feature.

_Could it be possible?_ she thought to herself. _Could there have been another transfer?_

Today was Friday. Tomorrow would be Saturday – her day off. Mel folded her jumpsuit again and set it to the side, her mouth firming in resolution. Mr. Thomas could not persuade her to do it, but now the time had come.

Mel was going back to Aperture.


	3. Chapter 3: The Homecoming

**Chapter Three**

**The Homecoming**

When Aperture had begun its renovation, one of the first orders of operations was to gain employees. This was a long, slow process, made even longer by Caroline's lengthy screening processes on each person. Cave Johnson had hired anyone who wanted to join, be they psychopathic, murderous, or insane, and Caroline had been the one to bear the consequence. Never again.

It had already been a year of major refurbishment and Caroline had already hired several people. Next on the list was finding a place for said people to live. In Cave Johnson's day, many of the full-time employees were placed in the special underground apartments near their work areas. But then, these were the first to be trapped when GLaDOS took over. For safety's sake, Caroline was determined to think of a different option.

Thus, out of the limited funds awarded to them when they escaped, plus a hefty loan, Caroline built a nearby apartment building for the employees at Aperture. The building had only just been completed while Wheatley was away, and he slept in his very own room for the first time.

He did not sleep well. Not because of the room, though. The room was a nice one with unpainted white walls, a little kitchen in case he wanted to burn the place down on accident, and a bed with several pillows. The bathroom had a shower with several nozzles with different scents and there was a fold-out couch with a Viewscreen in front of it in case he wanted to watch tele.

No, it wasn't because of the room. It was because of the dreams. Wheatley had learned fairly quickly that one of the biggest annoyances of being human – besides frequent trips to the bathroom and needing to bother with where to put your legs – were the dreams that came every night. Chell had suggested Midnight Sips, which were a sort of drink sold at bars in most hotels and apartments that helped you go to sleep and give you good dreams. Jack was apparently a master at making them. Unfortunately, the helpful little sips didn't work on Wheatley. He would drink one, feel a bit drowsy, and go to sleep fairly quickly, but the dreams would come anyway, even though the barman guaranteed dream alleviation when he handed the drink over.

So Wheatley had given up on Midnight Sips altogether unless he couldn't sleep at all and bore his torture silently. That meant complaining about them loudly to anyone who would listen.

The night at the Aperture Employee Apartments was no different, and Wheatley rose blearily from his bed. He ate his cold cereal thoughtfully and burned his tongue on his cup of tea, and got dressed in black pants, a white Aperture Brand shirt, and a light blue tie. He also did his best to brush his hair, but both sides knew it was a losing battle, so Wheatley just dampened it a bit and combed it fiercely while it was surprised.

After that was done, he let out a deep breath and rested his hands on the countertop, leaning over the sink. The mirror was set down too low for him and all he could see of his reflection was his tie and the lower half of the Aperture Logo on his shirt pocket.

"I need to tell her," he said out loud to his tie's reflection. "Today. As soon as she gets here, I'm going to tell her. That's- that's what I'll do. I'll just go up to her," he straightened and pantomimed his words, "straight up, no pressure, no problem, and I'll say, 'hey, Chell. How's it going? Good, going good' Okay, sounds good so far." He bobbed his head and bit his lip. "'Anyway, I just wanted to ask you… and I want your honest opinion about this. Not that your opinion would be anything but honest, it's just…' No, no, never mind. Starting over."

Wheatley looked down at the floor and began to pace. "'Just… seeing how things are going with the facility and everything, and seeing how you're going to be busy with the engagement and everything, I…' Oh, wait! God, no! I can't say that – that part's a secret! And she's not engaged yet. Hasn't said yes, hasn't even asked her yet." Wheatley gave a whine and slumped onto the toilet with his face in his hands. "Ohh, why is this so hard? I just have to ask her… just say…"

_What next? I've done what Caroline told me to do, and now it's over. You don't need me to be your spokesmodel, but I'm not sure what else I can do. Aperture doesn't need me anymore, but I don't know where else I can go. I'm from the twentieth century. I don't know anything about hovercars or Viewscreens or anything else in this place. I can't coast on fame forever. And also… I don't want to leave you._

That was it. That was what he wanted to say. But even though talking was one of his favorite activities, he couldn't always make the words work. He knew the general idea of what he was trying to say, but then one word would lead to another and in the end he would be speaking about an entirely different topic. Why? Why did that always happen to him?

"I… I'll just say…" Wheatley repeated, trying to get his brain back on track, but before it could, the doorbell rang. "Coming," he yelled, gave his hair a final pat, and went to open the door.

It was Chell, also in black pants and a white shirt, but instead of the blue tie she wore a black vest. Her hair was pulled back into its original ponytail.

"Hey, hello!" exclaimed Wheatley as if her appearance was a total surprise.

Chell smiled and jerked her head toward the elevator. "Ready?"

"Oh! Oh, yes. Absolutely ready. Just need to… get my shoes on." Wheatley pulled on his shoes and stumbled after her, nearly clocking his head on the doorframe as he exited. He followed Chell into the elevator and stood there with hands tapping anxiously at his sides.

"I want you to tell Jack about what happened in Aperture," Chell said, looking toward the closed elevator door.

Wheatley's nervousness increased. "What… um… what part in Aperture?" His eyes darted toward her face, then back at the floor several times, rather like the anxious look he had sometimes given as a core.

"You know what part," Chell said simply. "Jack is waiting for us in his hovercar out front. You can tell him on our way over."

"But… but what if I don't want to?" Wheatley disputed. "I don't, by the way, just in case you didn't catch up on that."

Chell fixed Wheatley with her gray-eyed stare. "Jack is my boyfriend. Part of being in a relationship is communication, starting with not lying."

"Lying's a strong word for it," Wheatley argued, digging his hands into his pockets and pointedly not looking at Chell. "It's not lying, really, is it? Just a simple omission of certain details. That's all it is." Feeling she still wasn't convinced, he tried to distract her by glancing up at the ceiling and commenting irritably, "Can't this bloody lift go any faster?"

Chell would not be sidetracked. "Jack will find out anyway. Doug or Caroline might say something on accident, and I thought it was best he heard it from you first. I won't ask them to lie for you."

"Oh, so he's Doug now, is he? Not Rattmann?" Wheatley's nostrils flared and he crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and rubbed his hands together like he had a chill. "When did that get started, then?"

Chell's eyes narrowed, but she did not reply. When the elevator coasted to a stop, she held down the button with her finger to keep the door closed. She stayed still long enough that Wheatley demanded, "Oh, just let the door open, will you?" But he stopped as soon as he made eye contact, his irritation bleeding away.

Chell was looking at him with a look half of frustration, half apologetic. Wheatley tried to look down at his shoes again, but Chell stepped forward so he had no choice but to look straight at her face.

"Wheatley," Chell said quietly, "I don't mean to bully you."

"I… I know," he answered, his voice just as low.

"I know you," she continued, taking his hand in a trusting gesture. "When something like this happens, you try to cover it up and act like it never happened. But we can't. Not with this."

What happened after the core transfer had been a touchy subject for both of them. Even being reminded of it started Wheatley's ghosts screaming.

"_Actually… why do we have to leave right now? Do you have any idea how good this feels?"_

"_I've done nothing but sacrifice to get us here, and what have you sacrificed? Nothing. Zero."_

"_Can a moron punch… you… into… this… pit?! Huh?! Can a moron do that?!"_

Wheatley flinched as the voices started up yet again and he gripped Chell's hand a little harder. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled. "You seriously have no idea how sorry I am."

Chell took her finger off the button to clutch his hand in a double-fisted grip. The elevator door stayed closed. "I do," she answered. "You told me."

"But it doesn't seem like it's enough, somehow," Wheatley admitted. "Yes, I said I was sorry, and yes, you forgave me – kind of – but… I dunno. Sometimes I just feel like I would be better off in space."

"And then where would we be?" demanded Chell. "I would still be on Mars feeling sorry for myself, Caroline would still be GLaDOS, and Doug would most likely be dead. Nobody wishes you were still in space."

Wheatley hugged her, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Thank you, luv," he said, feeling a bit choked up. "That- that's a real relief to hear you say that."

Chell let him hug her for a minute before pulling away. "Now, here's how it's going to go," she said, straightening his crooked tie. "We're going to go out there and meet with Jack. You tell him what happened, he'll understand, we'll go and see Caroline and Doug and show Jack around. Nothing will go wrong. Alright?"

Wheatley still looked rather petulant. He nodded down at his shoes.

"Wheatley?" Chell asked. He nodded again. "Doctor Ley?" she added with a suggestive smile.

Wheatley chuckled and looked up at her with a wry grin. "Chell Freeman," he rejoined.

Chell snorted at this shot at her true name and opened the elevator door. She tugged on his sleeve and walked out of the building where Jack was waiting, leaning against his hovercar. There were some brief greetings, everyone got in, and they were soon underway.

Wheatley had only a few seconds to get settled before Chell told Jack, "Wheatley has something to tell you."

Wheatley's nervous stomach, which had relaxed with the 'Doctor Ley' comment, tensed again. Jack peered back at him through the rearview mirror. "Oh, yeah," Wheatley stammered. "Just… something, sort of silly, really."

"It's not," Chell corrected, and he could see the flash of her stormy eyes.

He winced and started afresh. "No, no it's not. Not silly at all, actually. Sort of embarrassing, really. Chell wanted me to tell you about it."

"What did Chell want me to hear?" asked Jack, and with this query, Wheatley launched into his story.

"You know how on the tele – Viewscreen, I meant. Sorry about that – remember how I was talking about… me and Chell trying to escape? Well, we did try and escape, and it was going pretty well until it came to that bit where we tried to take out Her head-on. Aaaaand… that part did not go very well. See, in order to get Her out of control, we had to do something called a Core Transfer, and that would take Her out of the system and… put me in instead."

So Wheatley went on, describing his anger when GLaDOS called him a moron, punching Chell down into Old Aperture, then how the Itch took over, prompting him to test her when she came back up. Chell, half turned in her seat, was incentive enough to refrain from sugar-coating any of the details, even though he was sorely tempted several times.

Jack reached the hovercar parking lot and turned off his vehicle, listening intently to Wheatley's story, examining the man's face as he talked. Wheatley's hands wrung themselves into knots and although his eyes darted around a lot, they refused to meet Jack's. Jack took Chell's hand and felt how tense she was, how much this story pained her to hear. Although Jack knew that Wheatley and Chell's past in Aperture had not been a pleasant one, and that they had had some sort of falling out because of a mysterious event neither liked to talk about, he had never dreamed that such a madness could have rent their friendship apart in so violent a way.

Every so often, Jack looked at Chell to see how she was taking it. He wondered if she was still as angry as she had seemed to be back then – Wheatley put special emphasis on the screen smashing episodes – but although her hand clenched his tightly and there was pain in her eyes, she no longer seemed to be strongly against Wheatley. Instead, her look held understanding. Clearly she had heard the issue from his side before. Jack could see that she had forgiven him.

Wheatley was unaware of everything except for the sound of his own voice. Jack's gaze was torturous, Chell's even more so. He cringed with every word he said, not just from guilt, but also because – secretly, always very secretly – he enjoyed thinking about the reward the Itch had given him when he fulfilled it with testing. It had been the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced in his entire life – in both lives! – and even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help dwelling on it. Every so often he would find himself thinking about it, but he would push it away with an inward shudder, trying to picture in his mind how cruelly he had used Chell to get that feeling. But he couldn't help it. The memory was there nonetheless.

After Wheatley had finished his narration, Chell picked up the slack end and began to talk about Wheatley's recovery, Mr. Thomas' plan, and her journey back into Aperture. Jack had heard most of the story before from Wheatley on the Viewscreen, but Chell supplied her view, telling him how bitter she had felt since she remembered Wheatley being Doctor Ley, and how she had resolved not to let him apologize because she could not be sure if he was truly sorry.

"But I did anyway," Wheatley interjected, for he still liked to talk, even if he hated the subject. "When GLaDOS took her again and Doug Rattmann brought my memories back… she was in a test chamber about to give up, and I just told her the truth. How sorry I was. She hadn't talked at all to me before that – well, not that… um… not- not that I could remember as a core – but when I said I was sorry, she just sort of got up off the ground, turned around, and said 'apple'. As kind of a joke, you know. I told her to say that when we first met, as a core. Ooh! And… and back then, when we first met when I was a human, I offered her an apple! Working on two different levels. Huh, really clever there, luv."

Chell graced him with a small smile and continued, "We forced GLaDOS to undergo a Core Detachment and separated out the files that were originally Caroline to put back into her old body. We all escaped together, and Caroline has been working on refurbishing Aperture ever since."

Wheatley nodded and snuck a quick peek at Jack, wondering what he was thinking of this. Would he hate him for what he had tried to do to his almost-fiancé? Would Chell stop talking because of the memories she had forced him to unearth? Had he wrecked a friendship again?

"Well," Jack said at last, giving Chell's hand a final squeeze and leaning forward to pat Wheatley on the knee, "it seems like the two of you have been through a lot together."

Wheatley huffed in relief and cracked a smile. "Yup, that we- yeah, that we have," he said, following Jack's lead and getting out of the hovercar. "But, you know, we got through it alright and we're all fine now, so… we are fine, right?"

This was said in an aside to Chell in a low but nervous tone. Chell looked up and nodded at him, putting most of his doubts at ease. She tugged on his shirt sleeve and whispered, "Thank you. I know that was hard."

"Hard? You put me through bloody torment, luv! Not doing that again, not ever."

"You don't have to," Chell said, starting to walk briskly toward Aperture's entrance. "Once was enough."

**()-()**

**Mel's ears rang and her mouth tasted like blood and cotton. She struggled to swallow, to breathe. Her eyes wouldn't focus. The light up above was a piercing, painful beam. The voice talking hurt her ears.**

**Wait… voice? Talking? To her?**

"**Is… uh, is this thing on?" the voice said.**

**The ground rumbled. Mel could feel it tickling her fingertips.**

"**Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?" the voice asked slowly, annunciating every word. "Oh, right. You can't answer."**

**Mel lifted herself upright and nearly blacked out again. Her head was fuzzy, as if somebody had draped gauze over every memory. She recognized where she was, although she couldn't remember the name. It looked different. Dank and dirty. The poster on the wall was ripped, the picture had fallen down, and her bed had fallen to the floor upon ejection from the pod. The lights flickered as the place rumbled yet again. **

**The voice cleared its throat. "I'm so sorry, astronaut, olympian, or war hero," it said. "There was a slight problem with the test. Don't worry, though. We got you out okay. Nothing's different. Nothing's changed. Just, ah, head out of the chamber. I'll tell you a bit more out there."**

**Even that voice was strange. Warped, changed somehow from the way she remembered. What was the man's name? Mel could not recall. Although she could remember, from some dim, unused corner of her mind, that whoever's voice it was had not actually talked directly to her before. The messages had all been prerecorded and generalized. These were for her alone.**

**Mel obeyed the voice, walking over to the pod door. She pushed it open, but the hinges completely gave way and clattered to the ground. Mel observed her surroundings with bleary eyes and a blearier mind. She hardly recognized this place. Everything had fallen in on itself, support beams on the floor, walls falling to bits. The lights were flickering sporadically and electricity fizzed on and off. The rest of the Relaxation Pods were jumbled and tossed about like blocks in a messy bedroom. Mel tentatively dropped to a nearby beam and began walking along it. Almost immediately, it led to a ledge.**

"**Don't worry about the height," advised the voice as Mel looked down the precipice. "I had a few of my scientists make what's called Long-Fa—I mean… Aperture Science Innovators Long-Fall… Boots. Heh. That was easier to think of than I thought."**

**Mel wasn't frightened. Only confused. Very, very confused. The Aperture Science Innovators Long-Fall Boots were strapped to her legs and she couldn't remember if they had been on there before she had gone to sleep. She began to recall very hazy memories of the train ride, that same voice talking to her as she rode, then walked, then rode an elevator, then walked again. The pieces came slowly like a puzzle made of mist.**

**However, she decided to trust the voice, leaping from the edge and counting on the boots to save her. They did. She felt very little impact as she landed fifty feet below in a spot marked 'Docking Station 003'. They must have moved her pod after she went to sleep, Mel realized, recognizing the number in a flash of insight. Maybe the jump had helped clear her head.**

**She walked out into the lobby. One of the turrets' beams was flickering more badly than the lights, turning to examine her with whirring clicks as she passed by. The other turret was off completely. Their bases were tangled in long grass that had twisted through the concrete floor.**

"**Pick that yellow device up," said the voice, indicating a cylindrical object on a podium that had once been on display behind glass. The glass had long since shattered and it crunched under Mel's Long-Fall Boots as she walked. "Don't worry. It's not hazardous. I've had the scientists leave you a… ah… new device to help you! Yeah, that's right. A new test. Congratulations! You get to test something else now. Double the experiments for you!"**

**Mel peered at the device. It looked like some sort of gun. The podium it sat upon stated 'Old Reliable' in big letters, then underneath in smaller ones 'the first AHPD to have three healthy surviving users'. Unassured, Mel picked it up, slipping her hand around the handle inside its back end.**

**Almost immediately it began to hum. She placed her left hand underneath what seemed to be the barrel, directly behind the three black tines. A green sheen sped through the formerly dormant hollow tube inside, and the whole thing flashed with power. Mel nearly threw the thing away because it radiated such heat, but after a second the glare subsided and the gun was hers, fully in operation. She stroked it with her left hand, smoothing away the dirt and feeling its sleek yellow surface. Who knew what it was meant to do, but it was hers.**

"**There's an open door nearby," said the voice. "Should take you out of the building."**

**Mel brushed away the ivy surrounding the doorway to her left and exited, holding the AHPD with both hands.**

"**You'll need that new test to move around," the voice continued. "Don't worry, though. We built the building like this."**

**The place rumbled yet again.**

"**Uhh… don't worry about that," the voice soothed. "It's just… uh… a new drilling project we're working on down below. Yeah. To get the salt mines deeper – to get more testing spheres in. Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Just… ignore that."**

**The newest room was in no better condition than the last. It seemed to have once been a garden, but the few trees that stood around were warped and darkened. There was a pool of black water in the center with a bedraggled tree hanging directly above it. A rotting bench stood to the side and limp, uncut grass spotted the ground. Decorative stones stood in piles. Most importantly, there seemed to be no door.**

**After some time of looking around, Mel decided to experiment with the strange device she had been given. She pulled the trigger and the apparatus lurched, a blue jet of light exploding from the end, then showering into sparks as it hit the ground. Mel turned around and tried the other trigger. This time, orange light. She aimed it at several different objects – the tree, the water, straight up into the air. She had success only when she aimed it at a flat, white panel. The sparks stuck and a shimmering oval appeared on the panel's surface.**

**Mel held her hand over the oval and felt the heat radiating off it. She knew better than to touch. She had shot with the blue trigger, but now she looked around for another panel to shoot at with the orange trigger.**

**There, up above was a broken window. Mel shot the ceiling of the room with the orange trigger, but then stopped in confusion. Instead of a flat, shimmering oval, this one was hollow. Only the very rim still glowed orange. She turned back to the first blue oval and stepped back in surprise, looking back and forth between the two ovals in astonishment. They weren't just ovals. They were connected. They were portals.**

**Oh, well! This changed everything! Mel stepped through the blue portal, dropping down into the upper room. The Long-Fall Boots tugged at her legs, flipping her upright before she could hit the ground. Mel looked straight up and could still barely see the stagnant pool of black water through the portal above her head.**

**Something to help her, indeed! Mel gave the AHPD another stroke. With this thing in hand, she felt almost unstoppable.**

**()-()**

Mel pulled on the Aperture Test Subject jumpsuit, not daring to look at herself in the mirror. Her heart was pounding, the Viewscreen interview still fresh in her mind. She was nervous, very nervous, but stubborn enough to keep going despite her fear.

Besides, what was the worst that could happen? They send her away? They tell her that she was being foolish?

Maybe the man from the interview would be there. What was his name? Wheatley. That was it. He looked like he could be understanding. Maybe he would help her.

Mel stooped over and adjusted her Long-Fall Boots, hearing the pistons on her heels hiss with the pressure of her new position. Their heavy weight attached to her legs was familiar and comforting. The thick cloth of the jumpsuit was warm and close. All that was missing was Old Reliable, her portal gun, but she had thrown that into the incinerator before leaving. Old Reliable was gone for sure.

Finally, Mel screwed up her courage and looked into the mirror. There she was, almost the same as she had been four years ago, except cleaner and less sleep-haggard. Her hair was even tied up the same way, in a messy bun high on her head. Mel clutched her arms around her shoulders, gripped by a sudden chill. It was real, then? She was really going back?

Yes. No matter what was ahead, she would be ready.

Mel packed her pockets full of useful items: a health bar or two, a pad of paper and a pen for communication, and her Humanity Card.

She smiled down at this last object, looking down at her own pale face in the card's picture. The Humanity Card had been given to her as soon as she was released from the hospital and she still looked worn from her experiences. Mel tilted the card to the side, watching as the 3D holographic image of her face turned to show her profile from either side.

She had needed to choose a new last name for herself, as she could not remember her true name. She had chosen 'Virgil' because it was the only one she could think of. 'Mel Virgil'. She hoped Virgil would have been pleased. She would tell him when she saw him again. Hopefully today. He might even be flattered.

With these bare basics, Mel went out front where a TT was waiting. TT 20 was mostly empty – very few people were out and about so early on a Saturday morning. She found a seat and sat down, ignoring the strange looks given her by the other passengers. She knew her fashion choice was eccentric, but she would have it no other way. If Caroline pressed her when they met, she would hold out her Humanity Card.

_This is the date I appeared_, she would write out on paper, pointing at the little number on the card.

Then she would let Caroline examine her jumpsuit. It was an Aperture original, after all, and hopefully Caroline would recognize it on sight. Why, Caroline might even recognize her! She had been there when Mel was, she had heard her voice on the recording. Caroline might welcome her with open arms and take her down to see Virgil right away!

_Stop. No getting ahead of myself_. Mel forced her train of thought to slow down and take it easy, settling back into her seat. No need getting wild hopes up. Wait and see what Aperture would bring. That was all she could do for now. The preparations were made. Now all she could do was wait and see.


	4. Chapter 4: The Facility

**Chapter Four**

**The Facility**

Aperture had several different entrances, most of them secret, but the one Caroline had chosen for their 'official' entrance had been built in the late 1940's, the first entrance Aperture had known. A thick overgrowth had destroyed the original lobby, leaving the bare skeleton of a room in its place, but Caroline had hired a special team to rebuild it, keeping only the old elevator untouched, reinstalling walls, floors, desks, monitors, and chairs. The wild forest that had grown up around – and inside – everything was trimmed back to make the place look more aesthetically pleasing. The Aperture logo was painted a bright blue on the outside of the whitewashed building.

Chell led the way through the revolving door and past the front desk. Inside was as lovely as the outside, pristine and white. The lobby was two stories high, with two staircases on the far ends of each room leading to the second floor. A futuristic light hung over the front desks, which were already fixed with computers. There were seats set up in the waiting area, with black carpet beneath them. All other areas had tile. There were glass guardrails on the second floor.

And it was all completely empty.

Wheatley – who had not stepped foot in here since they had completed renovation – felt awed by the spectacle. Only the logo on the front of the desks convinced him that this was, indeed, Aperture Science Facilities he had stepped into, and not some businessowner's winter wonderland. He felt compelled to speak in a whisper, like this was some untouched crystal cavern he had wandered into, and not the place he would be working.

Jack gave a low whistle. He was impressed as well. The immaculate floors, high, arching ceilings, and towering walls was like nothing ever built on Mars. Caroline had done well. It was a grand first sight.

"This… is… absolutely amazing," whispered Wheatley. His hushed voice echoed around the lobby, making it feel bigger than ever. "Wow. Just… yeah, just… this is beautiful! Really something."

After letting her companions drink in their first sight, Chell walked swiftly toward the desk, her footsteps magnified on the white tile. Jack and Wheatley followed at a more leisurely pace, craning their necks to look up at the domed glass ceiling, peering about for any sign of human activity. There was none.

Chell walked to the door behind the desks, her footsteps now muffled on the black carpet. She pulled out a card from her pocket and held it underneath a laser scanner by the door. It gave a muffled chirp and for a moment the plate read '_Card Recognized. Redacted, Chell. Maximum Clearance_' and the door unlocked with a snap. Chell held open the door and waved her companions to enter. Wheatley did, ducking to avoid the low doorframe, but Jack took the door from her and motioned her to enter first. She did, with a smile of thanks.

There were a few more hallways branching off every which way. Lighted signs pointed the way to the mail room, the filing room, and meeting rooms 101 to 109.

"This is the top layer," Chell told them. "We didn't put any panels in here, just in case. There are a few cameras, though, for security purposes." She pointed up at a white camera mounted on the wall, which swiveled to look at them as they passed.

"How many layers are there?" asked Jack, peering into one of the meeting rooms.

"Above ground? Two. Below ground, there's more than we've discovered so far. We've finished the building above, that's fully operational, but we've done relatively little down below. Caroline won't let many of the workers down there. Not far down, anyway. Only the very top layers."

They came to another door at the end of the hallway. Again, Chell scanned her card and the door popped open. The three of them descended a staircase, holding onto the metal handrails, until they came to a door marked 'Main Control Room'. Chell scanned her card for a third time and led them into the room. Finally there was a spark of life.

The Main Control Room was filled with rows upon rows of computers. The front wall was made completely up of monitors. Desks were arranged in three neat rows, each one descending two steps lower. Each desk sported a computer, a keyboard, a mouse, and at least one clipboard. Most of these computers were off, their screens black, but the wall of monitors were all operational, each one showing the view from a different camera on diverse levels of the facility.

There were two people already in this room – a man and a woman. The man was hunched over a keyboard, typing rapidly and only pausing to jiggle the mouse and point at something on one of the monitors, which displayed scrolling orange text. He was a thin man, but his haggard appearance had filled out somewhat over the past year. His hands were steadier than they had been, and his mind clearer. His dark hair and beard were well trimmed and his new lab coat clean and white. The man's name was Douglas Rattmann.

The woman stood behind the man's chair, a clipboard tucked beneath her arm. She was tall and slender, taller still because she wore high heels. Her brown hair was shot with gray, reaching her waist in long, fine waves. She wore a yellow blouse with a black sweater over the top that matched her skirt. Her poise was straight and her demeanor serious. Although age had leached away the prettiness she had possessed in her youth, her face still retained something of the old sparkle which could still be apparent in her lips and eyes when she smiled. This was Caroline, the owner of Aperture.

Chell picked up a pencil and tapped on a metal handrail while coming forward, signaling her arrival. Caroline turned around immediately, and the tense look that had been on her face softened as she saw her visitors. "Hello, Chell," Caroline said, holding out her hand to her. "And Wheatley! You're back!"

"Yup! Hullo! I just got back in last night," Wheatley explained, jabbing his thumb back toward the door. "I can't believe what you did with this place! It's amazing, seriously! I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw it, it's tremendous!"

"Thank you," said Caroline with a smile. "It took a lot of work to get it that way." She turned her gaze to the third visitor with some interest. "Who is this?" she asked.

"This is Jack," Chell said, taking Jack's arm.

"Jack Bulmier." Jack leaned forward to shake Caroline's hand. "I'm Chell's boyfriend."

"Of course, I should have known." Caroline gave Jack the same appraising glance Wheatley had given him the night before, still with a smile, but with thoughtful eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Jack Bulmier. Call me Caroline."

In truth, Caroline could not remember her last name. Cave Johnson had only ever referred to her as that – Caroline – or if he was forced to explain, would elongate it to include the term 'my assistant', or 'my lovely assistant'. Her humanity card had required her to include a last name, so she had chosen Redacted, the same as Chell's, leading many people to believe that she was Chell's mother, although that was not the case.

"This is the boyfriend?" Doug rose from his seat and came over to join the group. He shook Jack's hand. "I trust you're taking good care of Chell?"

"She can fend just fine by herself," Jack said, returning the handshake, "but I do what I can."

Doug smiled. "That is just what I wanted to hear. I'm Doug Rattmann. Call me Doug. Hello, Chell." He gave Chell a hug before turning to Wheatley. "Hello, Stephen."

"Oh, you still on that?" asked Wheatley, giving him an awkward handshake that turned into a hug. "I told you to call me Wheatley."

"You told me to call you Stephen first," Doug rejoined, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled. His schizophrenia had been healed, thanks to the superior medicine of the new era, and his mind was cleared of all the voices that had plagued him. He still kept the Companion Cube beside his desk, but it no longer talked to him, and he no longer clung to it like he used to.

"We would usually do this in one of the briefing rooms," said Caroline, "but since we're all here, please find yourself a seat and, Wheatley, we'll talk about how your tour went. It seems we're doing this the informal way, today. Everyone, find a seat."

"How is she doing?" Chell murmured to Doug under pretense of searching for a suitable chair.

Rattmann shrugged. Keeping his voice low, he whispered back, "Still acting strangely, and it's getting more common. I'm worried about her."

"So am I," Chell agreed, pulling forward one of the rolling chairs and pushing it very slowly toward the rest of the group. "She's working too hard to get this place operational. She should slow down."

Doug snorted. "Might as well tell her to stop the progress of science."

"I've stopped GLaDOS three times before," Chell countered, but now it was more of a joke.

"I have no doubt in your tenacity," Doug said, waving a hand. "I'm only saying that if you are in the ninety-ninth percentile, Caroline is in the ninety-eighth."

By that time, they were too close to the others to keep talking secretly, so they pushed their chairs into place in a rough circle and took their seats. Caroline was talking to Jack, asking what job he was in.

"I work at a restaurant in New Toper," he was telling her. "I'm the Bartender there. I make drinks, mix Midnight or Morning Sips, and I can cook if pressed."

"Does your restaurant cater?" Caroline asked him.

"Oh, yes. I even deliver some of the catering when the bar is closed."

"Good," Caroline said. "We'll need catering once this place is fully operational. We only need catering for four right now, but prepare for some business once we hire more people."

Jack smiled. "I would like that."

Caroline rested her clipboard on her knees and turned her attention toward Wheatley. "Now that we're all settled, Wheatley, how was your trip?"

Wheatley jumped. He had been spinning his chair from side to side and having a whale of a time with it, but now that he was called upon, snapped to attention and blurted, "Oh, the trip? Good, good. Everything went well, everything good, it was all good." He nodded.

Doug looked like he wanted to laugh, but Caroline nodded patiently. "I watched every one of your interviews," she said. "You did surprisingly well."

_Surprisingly?_ Chell repeated to herself, narrowing her eyes at Caroline, but Wheatley did not seem to notice the unkind adverb. He lapped up the praise happily. "Oh, really? I tried really hard, remembered almost everything. I don't mean to brag, but… I do think I did a pretty good job, if I'm honest. That's my personal opinion. You won't believe some of the things that people ask, though!"

"I do," Caroline responded. "I told you I saw all the interviews, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right. But- but if you hadn't, you never would have believed it."

"I noticed," Caroline interrupted, "that you never mentioned your little… episode." She glanced over at Jack, an inquiry in her eyes.

Chell answered the unasked question. "He knows. Wheatley told him this morning."

"Good," said Caroline. "Then we can talk without hinderance. Let me rephrase that last sentence. Wheatley, I noticed that you never mentioned how you took over the facility and tried to destroy everything, including yourself, in a fiery apocalypse."

Wheatley, Chell, and Doug winced at this tart synopsis, and even Caroline looked surprised at herself for a moment. But she shook it off and continued, "I also noticed that you never explained specifically what happened to cause Aperture's downfall, and for that I am grateful. Thank you."

"Um, just… just doing my best." Wheatley ducked, unsure what to do about this approval. "Doing my job. What you… what you told me to do, you know."

"I do plan to tell everyone eventually," Caroline said, taking everyone by surprise. "Once we are under operation, I will tell about Aperture's history and my part in Aperture's downfall."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Rattmann asked, toying with the coffee cup in his hands.

"No," answered Caroline honestly, "but I would rather they find out the right way, from my own lips, than have someone else discover it. I don't want them to think we are lying to them."

It was almost like what Chell had said to him that morning, thought Wheatley, twiddling his fingers.

"Before I do that, however," Caroline continued, "I will need to take a mental examination so I have proper certification of my sanity. If there's one thing I know, it's to have the proper paperwork."

"If I may ask," Jack said, "what are you referring to?"

Caroline gave him a sharp, deciding look, then apparently decided it was safe, because she let out a long sigh. "Aperture fell because of me," she said. "I killed most of the scientists and kept the rest for testing."

"GLaDOS killed the scientists," Rattmann corrected, giving the name a special inflection.

"Yes," Caroline agreed, but there was tension behind her eyes.

Jack looked stunned, but for one minute only. "Oh," he said, and sat back in his seat again.

_How they cried out. How they screamed, rattling the doors, running through the passageways. They deserved it. They deserved it for what they had done to Her. She had not brought it upon them. They had brought it upon themselves._

Caroline gave her head a quick shake to bring it back to the present and rubbed at her temple where a slight headache throbbed. Would these memories ever go away? she wondered. _If I take the mental test, will it say that I am sane? _But out loud she said, "Until I take the examination, this event cannot take place. I am simply telling you my plans for the future. Speaking of which, we need to find you another occupation." She turned back to Wheatley. "Is there some field in the facility that interests you? What did you do before when you were human?"

"I tested people," Wheatley answered, then fumbled to explain himself. "Well, not actually. I didn't actually test people. I just sort of watched them. Took notes. Chell here was my only test subject that belonged… well, didn't belong to me, nobody belongs to me. But, you know, I was in charge of her, sort of. Always watched her test. Never a dull moment, watching that. B'cause she was brilliant." He sent Chell a special smile.

"Yes, I am quite aware of Chell's brilliance in testing," Caroline replied wryly. "We won't be doing human testing for quite some time, though, so if there's something you can think of in the meantime…?"

Wheatley squirmed. No. There was absolutely nothing he could think of. Doug Rattmann's job was too complicated, Caroline's too hard, and Chell dabbled in a bit of everything, helping where she was told.

"Maybe helping Atlas and P-Body with maintenance," suggested Caroline. She pointed toward one of the monitors where two moderately humanoid robots were busy. Atlas, the squat one with one blue eye, was motioning to its companion, P-Body, a taller, more slender robot with an orange eye.

Wheatley looked at them in recognition. "Oh, hey! Those are the testing robots, aren't they? Can I talk to them?"

"Press the microphone button," Doug said, indicating it.

Wheatley jammed the button and called, "Hullo? Hi, down there! Remember me? Can they see me?" he asked in an aside to Caroline, his finger still on the button.

"No," Caroline shook her head. "There are no monitors in that area."

"Oh, okay. Well, hello down there, even if you can't see me."

Atlas and P-Body turned to the camera and waved. Atlas had a welding tool in one hand and P-Body a piece of pipe. The taller robot accidentally knocked its companion on the head with the pipe, and there was a brief scuffle. "Ooh, do they usually do that?" Wheatley asked, startled.

"More often than you'd think," said Caroline, bumping Wheatley to the side and pressing down the button herself, leaning over the microphone. "Orange, Bl—I mean, P-Body and Atlas, please get back to work. Those pipes won't mend themselves."

The robots saluted – a new gesture they had learned from Rattmann – and turned back to their work.

"I like them," Wheatley grinned. "Nice little robots, aren't they? Very keen."

"Oh, I almost forgot." Caroline turned to reach under one of the desks and pulled out a pair of Long-Fall Boots. "For you." She offered them to Wheatley.

"For- for… really? For me?" Wheatley took them as if they were made of gold. "Wow, these are amazing," he chortled, examining them from top to toe, stroking their sleek white sides as best as he could with both arms full. "Can I try them on?"

"Of course," said Caroline with a beneficial wave. "Make sure they fit right."

Wheatley stripped off his shoes and began to jam his feet into the Long-Fall Boots, smiling widely. Caroline turned away from him and back to the others. "Something I need to mention before we all disperse is our biggest problem," she said. "Doctor Rattmann? Would you like to explain?"

Doug rose as if this was an official meeting. "As you might already be aware of, we've been having some trouble connecting our computers to the Disk Operating System – the system that GLaDOS was formerly in charge of," he started. "When we forced GLaDOS to disconnect, the System went into default mode to keep the facility in a constant conservation cycle. We had hoped that our computers would be a fitting replacement for GLaDOS, but the System doesn't seem to recognize it. If anything, they're simply working as a substitute. Stephen, are you listening? This is important."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I was just… ghah… trying to get this bloody shoe on." Wheatley struggled helplessly with the Long-Fall Boot.

"Try taking off the strap first," suggested Chell, leaning forward to help.

"Oh, yeah! Okay, alright, yeah, that's loads better. Okay, what were you saying, mate?" Wheatley turned his attention back to Rattmann.

Doug sighed. "As I was saying, the System recognizes our computers only for short periods of time. If the computers get shut off, or even go into sleep mode, the System brings everything back into default. And the System is in charge of nearly everything. Testing cycles, maintenance, panel controls, cameras, you name it. It's been like this from the beginning, but instead of fixing the problem, it's gotten worse. We keep trying to adjust the computers, but nothing we have tried yet has worked. Everything's still offline. Even the security on the doors! If anyone wanted to come in and take whatever wasn't nailed down, there wouldn't be a thing to stop them. All that remains operational are Atlas and P-Body because they were never fully integrated into the System to begin with. They had to be separated to give reliable results for testing. Everything else, though…"

"Have you tried hacking it?" asked Wheatley, who was walking around in Long-Fall Boots for the first time. They were far larger than Chell's and the toes were squarer, but they looked and operated the same way. Wheatley found them strangely comfortable and wobbled around on tiptoes trying to figure out how to walk faster. "I mean, I've found that a lot of problems can be solved simply by hacking. If you hack into the default, great big manual override, it should fix the problem, right?"

"We've tried it," sighed Rattmann, sitting down again, "but the default is the oldest part of the system. In order to change that, you have to recode the whole thing, and that would take years. There are so many parts to the default, I don't even know where to begin. More pieces have been added to it as time goes on, starting with the Aperture Employee Guardian and Intrusion System, then moving on to everything else. What's more, the computers have started overheating and crashing. We don't know exactly why, but we've discovered that the System is sending out a coded message through the facility that's too much for the computer to handle. We don't know what the message is or what it's supposed to do, but until we figure it out, there's not much more we can do."

"Can I go see Atlas and P-Body?" interrupted Wheatley, bouncing on his springy heels. "I've got these things on, so I'm all protected. They're not far away, are they?"

Caroline pinched the bridge of her nose to quell her growing headache. "Yes, you may go. Atlas opened a portal close to their location before they began." She pointed to a white panel on the wall where a luminescent indigo portal opened a rift into the facility's depths. "Their location is to the right, then to the left, then right again."

"Right, left, right," chanted Wheatley. "Okay! I'll remember that! Be back in a few!" He left, still muttering "Left, right, left. No, wait. It was right, left, right. Yeah, that was it. Right, left, right."

"Keep away from elevator four!" Doug shouted after him. "When on default that one goes to the incinerator!"

"Yup! Will do!" Wheatley shouted back.

"What are we going to do with him?" Chell asked softly once Wheatley was out of hearing range.

"Like man like core like man," responded Rattmann wryly. "The same we always did with him – find him a suitable job and try and keep him there until he blows something up."

"Is something wrong with him?" asked Jack, brow pursed.

Chell laughed through her nose. "With Wheatley? No, there's nothing wrong with him. He's just not good at doing…"

"…Much of anything," finished Rattmann. "Back when he was a human in the old days, Aperture kept him because he knew too much about the GLaDOS project. When he was a core, he was a part of Aperture and nothing was really wrong with him, so we just tried to keep him out of trouble. Now, though…"

"He's our friend," Chell said.

"True," Rattmann responded. "We just need to find him the right job. And that won't be easy. We tried several times before we decided on 'spokesmodel', but," and here he gave a laugh, "none of them really ended up well. Remember the button incident?" he asked Chell.

Chell chuckled. "Doug told him all he had to do was watch the button," she told Jack. "Just watch the button and tell us if it turned red or green."

"We never expected that he would actually try pushing the button," Rattmann said, putting his hands over his face in mock despair.

"Set us back three weeks trying to repair the damage," finished Chell.

"Ah," said Jack. "I see the problem."

"None of us wants to hurt his feelings," continued Rattmann, "but nobody really knows what we can do with him. We can't send him away because he can't do anything out there, but we can't keep him because he can't do anything in here."

"Why not?" asked Jack.

"Because he's a moron."

Caroline's voice was dark and low, but everyone still heard it clearly. Chell and Rattmann turned to her in horror and even Jack – who didn't know how potent an insult that was – looked startled.

"Caroline?" Rattmann asked, half a reprimand, half a question.

Caroline looked up from her lap and seemed only to realize that she had said the thing out loud. She turned her face aside, her hair sweeping in front of it, curling in on herself in a defensive gesture. "Something's wrong with me," she whispered. "I keep feeling voices… hearing memories speaking in my head…"

Her headache panged and she reached out to grasp the side of a desk. She doubted she was making any sense. Her vision whirled.

"It's like the cores again, hanging them on me, feeding me their voices…"

_How dare they do this to me? How dare they manipulate my thoughts? The humans think that I am their little pet, do they? Well, let's just see how well they respond to a little of their own medicine._

"Except this time it's my voice…

_Oh, it's you. It's been a long time. How have you been? I've been really busy being dead. You know. After you murdered me._

"I'm serious, I think there's something really wrong with me…"

_I hate you so much._

_So._

_Much._

Caroline felt herself falling, helpless to resist the pull of gravity. Arms wrapped around her, slowing her plunge. _Chell?_ she wondered at first, but no. Chell was standing over there, her chair tipped backwards. It must be Doctor Rattmann who held her.

_The rat within the walls. Snuff him out._

"Chell?" she tried to moan, but the words caught in her throat, consumed by the babble already streaming out.

_The test subject. Monster. Murderer. Dangerous. Mute. Lunatic._

"No!" This word actually came out in a scream. "No! Leave me alone!"

_When you try to wake her, I'll still be there inside her, like she was inside me._

GLaDOS was inside her mind, turning every thought to darkness. Caroline could feel Her eating her up, consuming her every being. The chant of the announcer sounded again and again in her brain: _"Caroline deleted. Caroline deleted. Caroline deleted."_

She was becoming GLaDOS again. GLaDOS was clawing Her way up her throat and out her mouth. They shared the same thoughts, same motives. She could hear Doctor Rattmann shouting through what seemed like a dark, long tunnel. The taste of blood was thick in her mouth.

_Say goodbye, Caroline._

_Goodbye, Caroline._

Once, Caroline had been a computer. The greatest computer that had ever been made. In some ways, her mind was still like that. She remembered when she had been GLaDOS and subjected to regular computer illnesses, like viruses. She had learned that the best way to combat the virus was to simply switch off for a while and fight it without any distractions. Although a human body had no perceivable on/off switch, Caroline seemed to find the one hidden in her mind. She switched it off.

Doug felt Caroline go suddenly limp in his arms, the inane spew of GLaDOS mockery mixed with Caroline's own pleas fading to nothing. Jack knelt beside him, holding back Caroline's hands, which had been thrashing wildly, tearing at her hair and flailing at the air. He let go as soon as she wilted, turning her hands over and probing her wrist for a pulse, then checking her pupils. Caroline's breathing was hitched and her eyes staring.

"We need to get her to a hospital," gasped Jack, rather breathless. "I don't know what just happened, but I know that much. Her heartbeat is irregular and she's hyperventilating. I'll bring my hovercar around to the front, then help you bring her outside. Hold her still."

With that command, Jack rushed out the door and went pounding up the stairs, running as fast as he could.

Chell stood motionless where she was. Her hands were white, clenched at her sides, and her jaw was locked shut. For the moment, her voice had left her completely. She could not speak even if she had wanted to.

"Help me take her sweater off," said Rattmann, fumbling with the buttons on Caroline's sweater. "We need to loosen the constriction, but still keep her warm. I think she's gone into shock." Numbly, Chell moved to obey.

Rattmann noticed her hands trembling as they unbuttoned the sweater and traced her arms all the way up to her pale face. "Say something," he demanded. "Chell, you need to speak."

Chell shook her head, gasping feebly, mouthing, _'I can't'._

"Chell, this is Caroline," Rattmann held up the woman's lolling head, forcing Chell to look straight into her blank, staring eyes. "Not GLaDOS. Caroline. She needs to hear your voice. Talk to her. Tell her that she will win this. Please." His voice went soft. "Caroline needs your tenacity right about now. Even if it's only one percent more."

Chell moved forward to hold Caroline's hand. She pressed her cheek against the older woman's and heard the rattle of her breath. She tried to speak again, but the words would not come. So, instead, she began to hum.

At first it was a tuneless thing, the notes ranging up and down spontaneously, but then they somehow resolved themselves into something familiar. The song the turrets sang as she rode up into the sunlight. She knew none of the words, but the haunting melody had stayed with her all those years, and now she hummed it for Caroline as an encouragement, a wish, and a plea all in one.

_Don't leave me_, she was saying. _Don't make this song a farewell._

Suddenly, Chell gasped, breaking off halfway through a bar. She flailed in the direction at the monitor. "W… Whea…tley…" she gulped, and flung herself across the room toward the microphone.

Chell jammed her thumb down on the button, regaining the rest of her voice as her throat opened up again. "Wheatley," she said into the microphone, scanning the monitors for the sight of her friend. He must have wandered the wrong direction, because she couldn't see him anywhere near Atlas or P-Body. "Caroline collapsed. We're taking her to the hospital." Her voice was still shaky, but better. "Make your way back to the portal. You're too far away to come back with us, so we'll send a TT to get you as soon as we get there. The System will reset to default as soon as we leave, but we'll leave the lights on in the hallway so you can find the way out. I'm sorry." She took her thumb off the button and turned back to Rattmann, suddenly resolved. "Let's get her to the car," she said.

The computers switched to default as they picked up Caroline.

"I'm trying to figure out what happened," Rattmann huffed as he and Chell began lugging Caroline up the stairs. "First she was talking about voices…"

"She quoted GLaDOS," added Chell. "She's said that to me before, about it being Her voice."

"And then it seemed as though Caroline was fighting herself," continued Rattmann. "Almost as if GLaDOS and Caroline were fighting for dominion in Caroline's mind."

"Can that happen?" Chell asked, turning pale again.

"Chell, everything we did putting Caroline back into her body was theoretical work," said Rattmann. Jack came running back down and took Caroline in his arms. They followed him upwards. "Would she live? Theoretically. Would GLaDOS survive as well? Theoretical. Could GLaDOS and Caroline split into two different personalities that would battle in Caroline's mind? Again, theoretically, yes. Unlikely, but maybe."

"So, what do you think happened?" Jack asked, huffing a little. Chell jumped a step to hold open a door for him.

"I think that GLaDOS and Caroline are fighting," speculated Rattmann, "but I'm not sure if it's what she thinks. Caroline mentioned the memories speaking to her. I did my best to separate the files that formed GLaDOS from the files that were originally Caroline when I put her back, and I'm pretty sure I did, but I did keep GLaDOS' memories. Those memories must somehow be triggering the GLaDOS part of Caroline to reawake."

"The GLaDOS part of Caroline?" questioned Jack.

"Like I said, it's all theoretical. But… don't you see? GLaDOS came from Caroline. The parts that came from the scientists – everything they did to Her – I separated out. The only thing that remains is the GLaDOS memories and Caroline. Of course Caroline remembers being GLaDOS, but those memories have a confliction. She remembers killing the scientists, she remembers even _enjoying_ killing the scientists. Thus the false dilemma of having two personalities. Her mind just can't cope with the conflicting emotions that the memory gives her. A computer couldn't handle a paradox like that, it would completely break down. A human mind can cope longer, but for only so long – it's driving her mad!"

"What about Wheatley?" Chell demanded suddenly. "He went through the same thing."

"But Stephen Ley was Wheatley all along," explained Rattmann, his eyes wilder than they had been since his schizophrenia had been cured. Now they were rushing down another hallway, Jack trying to move quickly, but still trying not to jostle Caroline. "They never tried to change him and there was no drastic event to change him from being Stephen Ley. There is no paradox in his mind, so – again theoretically – he can't be harmed."

"But what about the memories?" insisted Chell.

"He might face some side effects," admitted Rattmann, "but nothing like this caliber. Chell, get the door. Jack, careful with her head."

They had made it to the front lobby. Chell sprinted in front to open the door and Jack carefully maneuvered himself and Caroline through it. Once outside, they all broke into a jog until they reached the parking lot.

"Doctor Rattmann, get into the front seat," commanded Jack. "Chell, back seat. You need to keep Caroline still. Can you do that?"

He asked this last question because Chell still looked pale, underlying fear barely contained in her eyes. But she clenched her jaw and got into the car, holding out her arms for Caroline. "Thank you," Jack whispered, laying the woman's head on Chell's lap and climbing into the driver's seat.

"Alright," said Jack, flicking a few levers. "Now I'm glad I got certified for Emergency Medical Retrieval. It means I'm allowed to do this." He pushed a button and a siren began to whine. Jack pushed down the pedal with his foot and the hovercar lurched into the air. "We'll probably have an escort of law enforcement vehicles by the time we get there, just to make sure we're authorized," he explained, "but we need all the speed we can get."

"Yes we do," said Doug, twisting around to stare at Caroline, who twitched every now and again. His previously flattened hair was disheveled and he had a disturbed light in each eye.

Chell stroked Caroline's hair and held down her arms, afraid to touch her, afraid to look at her for fear that she should look for her friend and see her enemy.

_Be strong, Caroline_, she thought, for her throat had closed up again. _Be strong for me. For Aperture. For yourself. Please, please be strong._

Caroline flinched and gave a moan, her eyelids opening to display white inside. Chell looked away.

**()-()**

Only a few minutes after he had gone through the portal into the underbelly of Aperture, Wheatley had become hopelessly lost. He had immediately misremembered his 'right, left, right' chant and turned right several times and then left several times, ending up farther from Atlas and P-Body's position than he had begun. He was just beginning to consider finding the nearest camera and doing a little dance in front of it until somebody told him where he needed to go when the intercom turned on and he heard Chell's voice say in a very shaky, anxious, and extremely un-Chell-like way, "Wheatley, Caroline collapsed. We're taking her to the hospital."

"Wh- what? What do you mean by that?" demanded Wheatley, gawking with his eyes turned to the ceiling and turning around several times as if he could spot Chell by doing so. "What happened to her?"

Chell seemed not to have had the sound turned on for his area, because she continued as if she had not heard, "Make your way back to the portal. You're too far away to come back with us, so we'll send a TT to get you as soon as we get there. The System will reset to default as soon as we leave, but we'll leave the lights on in the hallway so you can find the way out." Then she added as an afterthought, "I'm sorry," and then the crackle of static announced her departure.

"Hey! Nononono, Chell, Chell!" Wheatley shouted up at the ceiling, backtracking along the catwalk he had just come down. "Listen, I- I can make it there in time, okay? Don't leave me in here! I'm not that far away, I just have to come down this way, follow the weird tube-y thingies, turn left, and… no, never mind. That's a dead end. But just down this way, and… no, still no portal."

He turned around several times again, loathe to admit that he was lost. With a dying hum, the lights all powered down and Wheatley was left alone in absolute darkness and silence. His groping hand reached for the handrail and he clung to it like a lifeline. "Okay, okay," he muttered to himself. "Just the systems restarting. No need to panic. No need…" But the quaver in his voice said otherwise.

A second later, the lights turned back on and the cubes, rushing by in their tubes, resumed their breakneck pace. The hum of the motors came back on and there was again a cacophony of sound.

"See? Told you it'd be fine," Wheatley said triumphantly. "Never doubt my optimism. Okay, still looking for a portal. Portal… portal… por—or, hey! Why not one of the lifts!"

Having turned around three and a half times, his eyes suddenly lit on one of the elevator capsules, open and friendly. He darted into it, jabbing his finger at the up button. Great was his surprise, however, when the elevator moved not up, but sideways.

"Well, that was… unexpected," he said, trying to recover his footing as the elevator jolted to a stop. "But, you know, as long as it takes me back up…"

But the elevator plunged downwards several floors, causing Wheatley to insistently jab the up button with his thumb. "No! No, up. Don't you get it? I said up. Not down. Down is the exact opposite of up – the direction I do NOT want to go in. C'mon, stupid thing. U-P spells UP. The direction I DO want to go in as quickly as possible. Oof!"

The elevator threw Wheatley to the floor as it began moving sideways again. Getting back to his feet, Wheatley glanced out of the glass surrounding him and saw the yellow words 'To Incinerator 025' painted on the wall scroll by as he passed.

"Hold on. Incinerator? What does- what does that mean, what does it mean by incinerator?" A brief memory of Rattmann's parting warning rang in his ears and he blanched. "Oh… oh, oh no. Wh- what elevator is this?"

The black number four was painted on the back of the elevator above his head. When Wheatley saw it, he began panicking in earnest, pounding on the door and pushing all the buttons, not caring what they were supposed to do. "Oh, no! NonononononoNO!" he screamed. "No, no! Somebody get me out of here! Someone? Anyone? I do not want to be fried to a crisp! Hello?! Somebody help, maybe? Just a little?"

The elevator hovered over an enormous black pit. Wheatley pressed his forehead up against the unyielding glass door and saw the expanse stretch away past his Long-Fall Boots. He barely had time to think of another plea before the floor creaked and the bottom opened up, dumping Wheatley, howling with terror, into the darkened mouth of Incinerator 025.

**()-()**

So, that was why, some time later, when Mel – feeling an acute feeling of déjà vu – stepped off of the now empty TT, the Aperture building was completely deserted. The TT took off as soon as she disembarked, leaving her staring up at the blinding white building, pinching the notebook in her pocket and trying to get up the nerve to go up to the door. Last time she had seen this entrance it had been in a shambles. Overgrown, falling to pieces. Now it was like a vision of the pearly gates of heaven.

Except… it was so dark inside. Mel could only see a few lights on through the glass. It was a Saturday. Could Aperture possibly be closed?

Mel tried the door. It opened. She slipped inside and stood at the desk, searching for a bell of some kind to ring. There was nothing. The door behind the desk had a thin stream of light peeking out from the crack at the bottom. She tried it. It opened as well. She entered.

A long hallway greeted her, the lights reassuringly on in a thin strip along the ceiling like a guiding path. She followed them to the left, through another door, and down several sets of stairs. She began to feel like she really wasn't supposed to be invited into this part of the facility, but she really didn't know what else she should do.

The Main Control Room door was cracked slightly, and Mel peered inside, knocking gently on the door. When nobody answered, she entered fully, feeling like an intruder. The sight took her breath away. All those monitors! All that technology, and this wasn't very far underneath the surface! She knew that Aperture had come up with far more impressive inventions than a computer-wall, but this was still a remarkable first taste.

Mel turned around slowly, taking everything in and searching for Caroline. She wished she could call out to make her presence known, but all she could do was clap and hope somebody heard.

On her second turn-around, she caught a glimpse of an indigo portal shining on the wall. She ducked through after a second's hesitation and found herself immediately deep in the facility. Having no idea which way to go, she decided to alternate rights and lefts and trust to luck to guide her. She reached an area of catwalk with several turns and no handrails and put her hand against the wall to steady herself, gazing down into the black depths below, smelling that familiar scent of oil and metal and feeling the familiar chill.

Mel turned another corner and almost ran headlong into two robots who were coming along in her direction. The one in front, a heavily built, round bodied, blue-eyed robot stumbled backward in shock, evidently as startled to see her as she was to see it. The creature lurched backward into its companion, a taller, more sleekly built robot that looked something like a fully limbed, orange-eyed turret with a portal gun, who gave the first robot a shove forward again, chittering in surprise and alarm. The catwalk was slender, and when the blue-eyed robot staggered forward, propelled by the shove, it stumbled into Mel, and Mel's foot slipped off the ledge.

To its credit, when it realized its mistake the blue-eyed robot did make a noise that sounded somewhat like an underwater shout and reached out to grab her hand, but the gesture came too late. Mel only briefly felt the robot's smooth, pressurized hand in hers before she was out of reach, falling silently into the blackness below.

Even as she fell, Mel could feel the Long-Fall Boots tugging at her feet, urging her body upright. She landed on her feet, thanking Cave Johnson for his life-saving invention, and looked up at the spark of light far above. She could hear the questioning chatter of the orange-eyed robot and the mumbled call of the blue-eyed one, but beyond stomping her foot against the metal ground she stood on to make as much noise as possible, she could give no indication that she was still alive.

Resigning herself to a long trek upwards, Mel took the passage to her right. This was not what she had expected, exactly, but life was full of many twists and turns. All she could do now was try and find her way out and maybe – just maybe – she could find Virgil on her own. The possibility was slight, but she would take it. All she had to do was keep going. Fate would handle the rest.


	5. Chapter 5: The Meeting

**Chapter Five**

**The Meeting**

Wheatley felt like he had been through a tornado. He remembered falling through the darkness, shouting bloody murder at the top of his lungs, the twisting tube sometimes making contact with his Long-Fall Boots, making a screeching sound that sounded as terrified as he was. He and his boots screaming together. How delightful their companionship was turning out to be.

Then he had shot out the end of the tube, landed on his feet thanks to the boots, but then stumbled due to the amount of propulsion the fall had given him, and landed on his face. He stayed there for a while, feeling the dig of rusty metal against his arms, but unwilling to move unless something else even worse should happen.

After a minute or so, his shuddery breathing subsided as he came to the realization that if he was in an incinerator he would already have burned to death by now, so he might as well have a look around. He did, prying himself upright with a moan of pain.

He _was_ in an incinerator, or the remains of one at least. Although it was warm inside, it was far from melting anybody, seemingly in a state of disrepair that had been going on since before Chell took down GLaDOS for the first time. Wheatley sat among the toasted remains of Aperture Weighted Storage Cubes, defunct panels, old desk chairs, broken testing chambers, and even an old core or two. A red warning light shone from above and here and there a chance fire from the incinerator's old glory days flared up, but it was still pretty dark.

Wheatley stood up, examining himself for broken bones. "Okay. Okay, seems all to be in one piece," he said to himself. He winced as he heard Aperture groan above him. "Not happy about what it did to my shirt, though." He clucked to himself, examining the dark blotches on the white material. "I just had to wear a white shirt today, didn't I? Okay, alright. No matter. I'm going to get out of here. Not dead, but still need to leave. Now… what's the best way… out…?"

"Hello?"

Wheatley yelped and fell backwards into the garbage again as he heard the turret's voice. Turrets were nasty, bullet-shooting things that would turn humans into pincushions as soon as look at them, and he had no desire to be a pincushion. "Where are you?" he panted, trying to look in all directions at once. "Where are you? Please don't shoot. Don't- don't shoot me."

"I'm different."

Now he could see the turret. It was lying on its side, half buried in the garbage. Its red sight beam flickered off into the darkness. Although it easily could have seen him, Wheatley doubted that it did.

"Oh, different?" Wheatley staggered upright again and tentatively approached the turret. "Okay, okay. Different's nice. Different's good."

He winced as a new onslaught of garbage fell down from one of the many ceiling holes in the distance. The turret piped up again, and he almost missed its first few words in the clatter of descending junk.

"You should have gotten that silver medal."

"Wh- what?" Wheatley cupped a hand to his ear, edging a little closer. "Silver medal? Sorry, what's this about a silver medal? What're you talking about?"

"It won't be enough."

"I still don't get what you're saying. Are- are you sure you even know what you're saying? Because, to be honest, it seems kind of nonsensical to me, in my opinion. That's just me being honest, there."

The turret only continued. "Dante's guide led him through hell and purgatory, but could not follow him to heaven."

Wheatley's mouth opened in realization and sorrow. "Ohhh… you're defective, aren't you? That's why you keep saying all those things. Can't help yourself, can you? Aww. Poor little thing."

Deciding the turret was safe enough for now, Wheatley reached out to pull it upright. It was the first time he had touched a turret, and he found its shell to be as sleek as his Long-Fall Boots. "Thank you," the turret said.

"Yeah, okay, no problem," said Wheatley with a grin. "Um… ooh, by the way, do you happen to have any idea how to get out of here? If you don't know, that's fine, okay by me, but if you do happen to know—"

"Double the experiments for you."

"Um… what?"

The turret's laser sight had shifted, and though it still blinked erratically, it now looked fixedly at a strange, yellow thing almost completely buried in the junk. Wheatley was immediately consumed with curiosity. What was it? An Aperture product never before seen? An old prototype of some kind? Maybe an oversized banana? Wheatley waded over to find out.

"Hello, what are you?" he murmured to the thing, excavating it from the garbage. It came free reluctantly and soon he held it in his hand. A strange, cylindrical thing whose makeup was almost familiar. "Ohh! Hey, lookit this! It's a… it's a portal gun, that's what it is! Hey, turret thingy, look at this! It's a yellow, really old portal gun! Ha!" He laughed to himself, turning the Portal Device over in his hands. "Who would've thought?"

Then the portal gun began to hum and glow.

"Uh-oh," Wheatley danced backwards, the device still clutched in both hands. "Um… is it… is it supposed to be doing that?"

It flashed with a brilliant light and Wheatley dropped the thing altogether, holding his hands over his face and yelling with surprise. He only dared to stop shielding himself when the light faded. The portal gun sat, operational, where he had dropped it and he tentatively picked it back up again, sliding his hand into the back to touch the two triggers.

"Okay, I'll be honest with you," he told the turret, "not expecting that to happen. Anything like that to happen. But, you know. Always surprises down here in Aperture."

"The System is searching."

"Yep. Okay. Come on. Come with Wheatley." Wheatley, still juggling the Handheld Portal Device, picked up the turret between its three spindly legs, propping the portal gun in the area behind its eye. He struggled to hoist it. Despite being small, it was still heavy.

"Thank you," the turret said again.

"Yeah, no problem," Wheatley huffed, his face turning red with exertion. "Wow, have you got bricks in there or something? They put bricks in turrets, now, just to give whoever picks 'em up a hernia? Something like that?"

The turret was silent as Wheatley scanned the area, looking for an exit. After a few moments filled with the monotonous "Umm…" sound, Wheatley decided on a direction that he thought the most plausible. "Okay. This way." He hitched the turret up a bit higher and started to scramble toward his point of interest.

The incinerator creaked and groaned. Trash fell down from chutes opening up in the ceiling every so often. Although nothing had directly come to harm him, Wheatley still felt a certain sense of unease, as if the incinerator walls would decide to close in on him any second. They did not, however, and Wheatley got to his destination intact.

He put down the turret next to a wall, looking up at the ledge above. There was a portal surface there, he could see, and another surface where he was standing. "That's convenient," he said out loud, prodding it with a toe. "Little too convenient. Should I be worried? No, no. Pro- probably just coincidence. Well, might as well give the portal gun a try."

He lifted the portal gun in the way he had seen Chell do it before, left hand beneath the barrel. He shot a portal up above and one on the surface next to him, then stopped in confusion. "Ohh," he said, realizing. "I shot both of them with the same trigger. Okay, yeah. Will not be making that mistake again. Alright, here we go."

This time he successfully shot two different portals, the blue one up above, the orange one below. Gathering up the turret in his arms again, he jumped through, landing heavily – but still upright – on the ledge up above. He shook off the vertigo and peered over the edge, sneaking a peek at the very top of his own head through the orange portal.

"I'm not saying I agree with everything those Aperture scientists came up with," he chuckled to the turret, "but… wow… portals are really cool. Just look at that! That's me down there! And me up here… and if I could just angle myself right—" He stuck out his leg over the edge and looked up through the blue portal. "Ha! See that? That's my foot right there, with the Long-Fall Boot on! Livid!"

"I only need one to test."

Wheatley started at the turret's proclamation. It had stayed quiet for so long, he had forgotten it could speak. This latest statement chilled him for some reason and he wondered if it had been a wise idea to bring the turret along.

"Um… okay. I'm just going to ignore that one. Come alo… oh."

In his excitement over the portals, Wheatley had not seen what else the ledge held. There was an exit, yes, but over the exit's mouth was a shining blue field, white sparks traveling in bright streams along its length. A fizzler.

"Oh, no! I can't take you through that!" Wheatley exclaimed. "You can't go through that – it'll fizzle you! I… um… this is embarrassing, but… I guess that means you can't come along. Really sorry about that."

"She's already forgiven you."

"Right, okay, I'm going to leave you right here, okay? Right here, on this ledge, by the fizzler."

"That's all I can say."

"Once I get out, I'll come back, disable the fizzler, and get you out of here, alright? I promise. Ooh, and here!" Wheatley jumped off the ledge and grabbed a piece of garbage, bringing it back through the portal with him. "See? It's a friend to keep you company! It's a sort of… hoopy… thing. Yes, Hoopy the hoop, meet my corrupted turret friend. Hoopy here will keep you company."

"Goodbye," said the turret, its gaze beam flickering off, but still awake.

"Sure, yeah, okay. Bye-bye. Don't get… fizzled… or anything. I'll be back for you."

The turret did not respond. Wheatley left it by the hoop and walked through the fizzler, thankful that it did not disintegrate his portal gun. He took one last look at the turret before turning the corner. Although he was no longer a robot, he still felt somewhat akin to those of metallic build. Even though the turret was a pain to carry, he was sorry to leave it behind.

"I'll come back," he promised again in a voice that was heard by him alone. "Once I get out of here, once I find the others… then I'll come back."

Wheatley spent the next hour and a half going around in circles. Every time he thought he was getting to someplace new, nope. There was the corrupted turret and his pal Hoopy again. Wheatley would call out a greeting or encouragement every time he passed, along with a renewed farewell, but he would be back again in a few minutes. The labyrinth did not seem to want to let him get anywhere.

After some time, Wheatley began to develop the eerie feeling that someone was following him. It was only natural, what with him being alone in an abandoned facility and all – even as a core he had sometimes had that feeling – so he tried to assuage it by talking loudly to the nothingness around, but even that failed after a time. He found himself growing quieter, trying to stifle every breath, listening intently for a footstep that wasn't his.

It was just his imagination, he tried to convince himself. There was nobody else in here except for the two little cooperative testing robots, the corrupted turret, and Hoopy the hoop. The two robots were in upper Aperture, and he knew where the turret and hoop pair sat, so it couldn't be any of them. It must be his imagination. It must be—

Wheatley turned a white-paneled pillar and jumped so hard that his portal gun went off. It hadn't been his imagination! There _was_ somebody else here! And he had just about run her over in his haste. Wheatley shouted in surprise, backing up as quickly as he was able, snatching the portal gun back and over his shoulder as he ducked behind the pillar, trying to keep his heart from jumping out of his mouth.

He was squeezing too hard. The portal gun shot a portal against the pillar he leaned against – a perfect pair to the accidental one he had shot past the woman – and within a second he found himself sprawled on top of his assailant, knocking her to the ground.

Wheatley rolled off, curling up into a ball and squeezing his eyes tight shut, waiting for the inevitable doom.

**()-()**

**Mel was confused. She had been since she had woken up, and since then there had been many more things to jar her mind. First and foremost was the voice from above. She remembered Cave Johnson speaking to her on the train ride, then on the elevator ride down, and as she passed from room to room she became more certain than ever that the voice speaking to her was not Cave Johnson. His voice was off, for one. This voice had a barely suppressed accent that became more conspicuous as they went on, and – as if that wasn't suspicious enough – he seemed to be trying to convince her that everything was alright, everything was fine, even though it clearly was not.**

**The rooms were falling apart – "Earthquakes," the voice had explained – there was new technology everywhere – "These earthquakes even shook up time a bit. Some stuff from the future got here." – and even whole new areas had appeared in the time she slept – "While you were spending that little time sleeping, we had some… some… uh… Aperture Science Nanomachines come in and build all this stuff."**

**Even if the voice had sounded more certain of itself, Mel would have been apprehensive. Nevertheless, she followed the voice's instructions, delving into the first testing sphere and solving the tests with – if not ease – at least her life and limbs still intact. After all, she had nothing but the strange yellow device – which the voice accidentally referred to as a Portal Device – and the voice to guide her, and as long as the voice didn't command her to do anything insane like jump into the pool of acid beneath her, she would follow its advice.**

**Right into Testing Sphere Brava Volta. The voice still called out suspiciously specific information and stuttered through possible lies, but one thing it seemed to be completely sure of: Mel was an olympian.**

"**Just remember the Nuremburg Olympics," he told her on one occasion as she exited her second test chamber, an addendum after his trademarked spiel about being a great 'astronaut, olympian, or war hero'.**

**Mel stepped into the elevator reeling, although it was not from the supposed high lead toxicity in the air that the voice had briefly mentioned and then tried to cover up. The Nuremburg Olympics. She knew that name. It chimed a bell, although it stirred up nothing but a very vague memory. This voice, whatever it was, it knew her name and it knew what she had done. What else did it know?**

"**Alright, hold up a second, Mel," the voice waved her to a stop as she entered the next chamber, the last shreds of the 'Cave Johnson' voice being cast aside. "I don't think you're that stupid that you're going to fall for this anymore. I'll be blunt now. I'm **_**not**_** Cave Johnson. This… isn't the nineteen-fifties. Everyone you knew and loved is dead. And now you're stuck here in Aperture Science down with the trash. Like me."**

**Even though Mel had been suspecting something of the sort for some time, it was still a jolt to hear it said out loud. She stood with the Portal Device slack in her hands, staring at the corner of the farthest emancipation grid as if looking at the voice's owner. Everyone she had known and loved. Had there been anyone? Did the voice even know?**

"**After everyone left because of that boat…" the voice continued in a bitter grumble, then perked up a bit, adding, "Which I'm sure you already knew, but… eh, whatever. However, I **_**can**_** get us out of here. If you're willing to let a voice in the sky who just said he was lying the entire time he was talking to you control nearly every movement you make. Is that okay?"**

**Mel stayed silent, her brow clenched in thought, holding the Portal Device a little closer to her chest. Well, the voice had not led her wrong yet. And besides, what choice did she have?**

"**I… ah… I'll just take your silence as a yes," decided the voice. "Oh, right. You can't answer me."**

**Mel added muteness to the list of things that the voice supposedly knew about her as she walked forward to continue the test. **

"**So, about… before…" the voice resumed slowly when she stepped into the next chamber. "You can get why I said all that, right? I'd rather not have my one chance of escape have a panic attack and die on me after being suspended for years in a faulty relaxation vault!"**

_**Faulty**_**? Mel cringed internally. What had she unknowingly agreed to?**

"**Which could be a real possibility," added the voice, cutting short the chuckle in his tone that had crept in over the last few words, "because as my records show, the old tests could cause heart attacks after small exposure to the chemicals. And you were pumped full of them!" The chuckle was back, as if he found this fact amusing instead of horrifying. **

**Mel felt somewhat alarmed, but the voice's tone switched to soothing in the space of a heartbeat and she couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved that she wasn't going through this alone. **

"**So, let's all take a breath… and start over. My name's Virgil. I'm a core! From up in the Enrichment Center."**

**Virgil said this jubilantly, and although Mel had no idea what a core was, the tone in which the thing was said made it sound as if being a core was the best, most amazing thing in the world. And although she had no idea either what an Enrichment Center was supposed to be, she felt excited even hearing about it.**

"**And before you even think of asking, yes, there is a building above you, and yes, I came from it. I'm not crazy. Don't be too alarmed, though. A lot's… changed since you've been put on ice."**

**This was said delicately, and Mel could almost sense Virgil peering at her, seeing how she was taking it all. She squared her shoulders, giving a mock show of complete self-assurance. So, she knew what had happened. She knew where she was and she knew the name of the thing guiding her. That was enough for now. Mel was a strong believer in the creed 'worry about one thing at a time as it comes to you', and now that she was satiated by a little honesty was ready to proceed. Virgil, although maybe not a friend, was at least a companion and a guide.**

**Yes. She could work with that.**

**()-()**

Mel was so blinded from the spray of light from the portal gun, she hardly had time to look at the man's face before he was gone. His startled scream still rang in her ears. Then he was on top of her, falling through the portal he had shot behind her, both of them crashing to the floor. She was up in a split second, fists raised in self-defense, but the man had curled up into a ball on the floor, hands over his head, babbling mostly incoherent pleas for mercy.

After some time, he snuck a peek at Mel and scrambled to his feet, pushing his glasses back onto his nose, round eyes bugging out with shock. "W- wait a minute, wait just a minute," he exclaimed, looking her up and down. "You're… you're a human! Down here… in Aperture."

He gestured with his hands a lot while he talked, giving Mel a clear glimpse of the device he held. Her eyes widened in turn. It was her Portal Device, Old Reliable! It had survived? But…

"What are you doing down here?" the man demanded, becoming reprimanding in turn. "You're not supposed to be down here. This is official Caroline instituted property, I'll have you know, and I won't stand for any sort of mucking about for larks. That's just—"

He stopped, glancing down at Mel's jumpsuit. "What're you wearing?" His eyes became, if possible, even rounder. He pointed down at the little brown logo on her suit, letting his finger hover just an inch above her chest. Then down at her Long-Fall Boots. Then back up to the logo. "Um… where… ah… where did you get that?" he asked.

The man was a whirlwind, talking and moving quickly, and for a moment Mel was a bit bewildered by all the action. But then that moment passed and she was herself again. She took out her notepad and wrote as quickly as possible, _My name is Mel. I was a test subject in Aperture in the 1950's_, then turned it over for the man to see.

The man stooped his head to read, holding the edges of the notepad and moving his mouth silently to the words. "Nineteen fifty…" he looked straight at her. "Nineteen fifties? Seriously?"

She nodded, letting him know that she was at her most serious.

"But… how- how is that even possible?" the man wondered, raking his hands through his hair. "You came here from the year Nineteen Fifty? You have got to be kidding me! How many people from the past are there here in Aperture? We need to set up an inspection, that's what we need to do."

Mel, now that the man was standing more or less still, had a chance to examine him from shoes to hair, and now she recognized him. He was the man from the interview – Wheatley. He was much taller in person than he had seemed sitting down in a chair, but it didn't phase her. Mel scribbled on her notepad again and offered it to the man. _You are Stephen Ley? _the pad read. _I saw you on the television interview._

She scratched out the word 'television' and inserted 'Viewscreen' as soon as she realized her mistake.

"Oh, please call me Wheatley," the man said automatically, staring down at the paper. "So… let me get this straight… it's been thousands of years since you've been topside, yeah?"

Mel shook her head and took the paper back. _I escaped four years ago._

"Wait, wait a minute. Chell escaped four years ago."

_I escaped before Chell._

"Huh." Wheatley clasped the note pad in both hands, a bemused expression on his face. "Who would've guessed. Do you…" he gestured up at her, then down at the pad. "You know… do you… talk?" Before she could answer, he spouted, "Not meaning to be rude, or anything, but I thought that Chell couldn't talk for the longest time, and it wasn't because she couldn't – she could, actually, if she really wanted to – um… but if you can actually talk and aren't just using this for- for fun… or something… then it would be really convenient if you would tell me before we stumble into any confusion."

Mel simply shook her head with a shrug.

"What, you actually can't talk?" Wheatley looked genuinely surprised.

Mel shook her head again.

"How- how come? Why not?"

Mel tapped her throat.

"No vocal chords or something?"

She nodded.

"Hmm," Wheatley hummed sympathetically, rumpling his hair and looking abashed. "Well, that- that is a… um… yeah. That is sad. Sorry about that."

Mel shrugged as if to say 'it's not too bad'.

"Don't you find yourself wishing you could talk, though?" Wheatley asked, clutching the note pad to his chest, expression eager. "I don't know how I would survive without talking, seriously! It- it's like something you physically need for survival, like water… or- or food… or… I dunno, what's another thing you need to survive?"

Mel twitched in a silent laugh. This man was helter-skelter with everything he did. Conversation went everywhere and his hands flittered all over the place. The only thing that stayed mostly constant was that pasted-on grin of his, like he was constantly trying to be cheerful even when he was embarrassed or scared. He was not a handsome man, she decided, but his manner was intriguing. She felt herself become at ease the more he prattled.

'I do sometimes wish I could sing,' she informed him, 'but I was born without voice. I can't miss it since I never had it.'

"Singing? Really?" Wheatley asked with some interest. "Musical type, are you? Well, you can still play some instruments to make music, you don't actually have to be able to sing. Like the piano! Ohh, lovely instrument. Beautiful… um… white thingies. Or, how about the violin, or… Hey, wh- what's wrong? You just went sort of pale, kind of. Not to alarm you or anything, but you really—"

Mel knew she had gone pale. It had taken her a moment to realize that she had never really taken the note pad back from Wheatley and had signed her answer instead. It had taken her a split second after that realization to understand that Wheatley – without finding anything peculiar about it – had understood and answered her hand-molded words. Sign language, the dead language, was not as dead as she had thought. Someone – a complete stranger, no less – understood what she had said.

'You understand me?' Mel signed again, very slowly as if it was a mistake.

Wheatley looked confused, although his smile stayed unchanged. "What're you talking about? 'Course I understand you, what do you mean?"

'You're holding the paper,' Mel informed him.

Wheatley looked down on it. "Um… yes. So I seem to be. That would be true." His confusion persisted for another second, and then it came to him in a flash of light and he started. "Wait, what? Then how were…" He looked from the note pad to Mel several times as if it stated that she was a convicted criminal. His feet skittered nervously. His free hand was buried in his thatch of hair. "Were you talking, just there?" His voice had gone high. "Right now. About the… the singing and you telling me I was holding this thing – did you talk out loud? You said- you said you couldn't talk!"

'I used sign language,' Mel signed to show him. Her eyes were wide and the gestures came quickly, now. 'Nobody has been able to understand me before. Signing is not used in this time. But you can understand me!'

"How?" Wheatley gasped, bewildered, searching his brain to find the reason why he could comprehend the unheard words. "H-how is that possible?"

'Something in your past?' Mel suggested. 'Can you remember anything?'

"Nothing about this! I mean, I do remember some things, but… but- but a lot got missed, okay? A lot of things didn't get transferred out along with my human thoughts and everything, and then when I was a core going back into a human, not everything made it back over then! So… I dunno. It- it could be possible that I knew. I didn't know that I knew, but… I know sign language?"

Mel felt like she wanted to hug him. Wheatley felt like he needed a hug, but not for the same reason. Actually, he was a bit stunned. Out of the blue, a new innate talent he had no memory of acquiring. It wasn't a painful translation for him – in fact, it was as easy as reading – but it startled him to realize that something like that could exist so naturally in his mind, only now springing out and making itself known.

Mel was standing there, smiling, her hands folded in front of her, waiting for him to recuperate. She was apparently excited to learn about his new talent, more excited than he was at the moment. A long trail of red hair had come loose from her bun and it gently caressed her cheek. Her eyes sparkled with joy. Actually, now that Wheatley had time to look at her properly, he could see that she was actually very, very…

…beautiful.

That realization was almost just as shocking. As a core, he had been unable to love as humans did. Sure, there were some things that could trigger a reaction akin to human love, but no core would find themselves fanaticizing about romance. It simply wasn't in their programming. Wheatley hadn't even thought about it, even when he was back in human form. There were girls around, yes, but they all moved a bit fast for him. One even tried to kiss him after a particularly alarming interview, but he had run away before he had even decided if he actually wanted a kiss or not. This was the first time since his reinstallation in his proper form that he got that heart flutter from being close to a woman. And, he found, he actually enjoyed it.

She was a very pretty woman, Wheatley admitted to himself, feeling his mouth dry up. Her figure under the jumpsuit was slim and shapely. Very attractive. The freckles across her nose? Adorable. Even the little brown mole between the left side of her nose and upper lip made her look even cuter. And her flashing red hair? Absolutely gorgeous. She was a bit taller than Chell, but that was alright with Wheatley. Now he didn't have to stoop down so far to look at her.

Wheatley cleared his throat a couple times, trying to act like he wasn't ogling. "Um… so…" he said, trying to get his mouth wet again and act like he could talk to her. "Ah… what… mm, how- how can I help you? You- you said you had already escaped four years ago, so… um… why are you back here? Again?"

Mel seemed relieved that he had recovered and signed quickly, 'I am looking for one of the robots here.'

"Okay…" said Wheatley, trying to see where she was going with this.

'Like you were,' Mel tried to explain. 'His name is V-I-R-G-I-L.' She spelled the name out with her fingers.

"V… Virgil," Wheatley pronounced it slowly, tipping his head back and trying to remember. He finally shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Can't remember any cores with that name."

'He works in management,' Mel signed desperately. 'He helped me to escape.'

"Wait, wait, hold on for a second." Wheatley waved his hands around to get her to stop. "Let me get this straight: Virgil, this other core… he helped you to get out?"

Mel nodded. 'He had fallen off his rail and found me to help him. In return, he guided me out.'

Mel could not decipher the emotion on Wheatley's face as he turned and walked a couple steps away, rumpling his hair and still clutching her note pad. If she could have guessed, she would have said it was distaste, but that was not it. In fact, Wheatley was feeling a very complex churn of emotions right then, the primary ingredients being chagrin with a dose of jealousy. Somebody else had been in his situation with a test subject under their care, and they had gotten their girl out alright. He had tried just as hard as this Virgil chap, hadn't he? It had taken four years of reconciliation to get him and Chell's friendship back on track, but it still seemed like Mel and Virgil were right as rain.

"Well, that- that's nice, then," Wheatley said in a low voice, his face carefully turned aside. When he felt it was safe, he looked back at her, his regular grin stretched a bit farther than usual. "Good- good on him. Glad to hear it. Happy you're out safe."

'I'm looking for him because I think he might once have been a human.'

Wheatley's smile became a bit more sincere. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I really don't think that's possible. Caroline and I… I'm pretty sure we were the only ones. That's… that's what I believe. So, sorry, but even if this core was nice to you, that's what he was programmed to do. It's not like he—"

Wheatley stopped because Mel was signing again. Her face was flushed and the signs came quickly. 'You said the cores were programmed with only one purpose!' (She signed cores with the combination of the signs 'round' and 'robots'.) 'V-I-R-G-I-L's was fixing things. Why would he help me if that was his only goal? Why would he talk about anything other than upkeep?'

"Okay, Mel, just calm down for a second, just—"

'It could be possible,' Mel signed, not taking heed to what Wheatley was saying. 'You can't deny it might be possible.'

Wheatley stopped. She was right. Anything was possible in Aperture, especially back in the old days when morals went out the window. He started to allow Mel's words to penetrate his shield of disbelief. Maybe… just maybe…

After a minute of shifting from foot to foot in contemplation, Wheatley finally met Mel's eyes and the pleading look in them made up his mind. "Okay," he said at last. "I'm not saying I believe you," he added hastily as Mel's whole face lit up with joy, "but the least I can do is get you back to… to Virgil and see what happens. Now…" he stepped back in concentration, "the most likely place to find a core is the Core Hub. It's sort of the- the breakroom for all the cores to socialize or… you know, do core stuff. If I were looking for another core – which I am at the moment – that's the first place I would go. All management rails lead to the Hub. Which means," he finished with a flash of inspiration, "all we have to do is follow the rail! See? Look, there's one up there! Let's follow it!"

He pointed upwards where a black metal streak zig-zagged back and forth. Neck craned upwards, Wheatley began to pursue it, starting from the place where it ended and following it inwards.

"See? We're all set. We've both got the boots and I've got the portal gun."

Mel snapped her fingers to get his attention, then gestured to the portal gun, then to herself.

"Oh? Oh! It's your portal gun! This is the one you used?"

Mel nodded. 'It's called Old Reliable'.

"Old… trusty? Is- is that it? Is that what you said?"

'R-E-L-I-A-B-L-E,' Mel signed each letter.

"Relia… oh! Reliable! Old Reliable, eh?" Wheatley patted it down, admiring it from tines to handle. "It is very pretty, isn't it. Very fetching, very sleek. Aesthetically pleasing all around, I think. Ooh, since it's yours, do you want it back?" he offered it to her, but she waved it aside.

'Need hands for talking,' she signed.

"Good thought, never would have thought of that. I would be gabbing away and I might never even notice that you weren't saying anything. 'Course, I might if you didn't do anything for a very long time, but who knows when that would be. Yeah, it's best that I carry the portal – I mean…. Old Reliable. I'll hand this back, though. Not that we need it, it's just – you know – case of emergency." He transferred the note pad back into Mel's keeping, feeling a hot flush rise up through his chest when their hands touched just briefly. He drew back hastily, afraid of leaving a blemish on her soft, pretty hand. "Anyway. This way! Follow me. Just down this passageway, I'm sure of it."

Mel grinned as she put the note pad back in her pocket. Although Wheatley made a lot of startling moves, she had not yet even been inclined to flinch away from him. A definite step forwards.


	6. Chapter 6: The Search

**Chapter Six**

**The Search**

Jack, Doug, and Chell sat on a bench in the waiting area just outside of Caroline's room. Doug got up periodically to pace, his hands nervously fidgeting, head down, muttering to himself. Even though he no longer had schizophrenia, the rat-like mannerisms he had exhibited back when he skulked through Aperture had risen again. Out of all three, he was the one who displayed the most nervousness.

Chell's jaw was clenched – she had not spoken since leaving the Aperture building. She sat with her hands folded, stooped over, staring at the ground. Her eyes were open, but they stared at one spot, never wavering. Only an occasional twitch gave a viewer any indication that she was still alive.

Jack was the calmest. He had not known Caroline for much more than fifteen minutes and he did not know what was at stake. All he knew was that GLaDOS coming back would be a 'bad thing', even though he did not know how bad, and that Caroline's sudden fall was a shock to both members of their party. He felt like an intruder on their sorrow, unhelpful and unwanted, but he did not have the heart to speak up and break their sacred silence. So he put his arm around Chell, wishing he could do more.

Even this small action seemed undesired, for Chell was as unmoving as stone in his arms. Jack was concerned for her. Caroline's fall seemed to have affected Chell for the worse, taking away the contented, beautiful girl she had been the night before and giving him this cold statue of a woman in her place. He felt inclined to draw away his arm, but he resisted. Better he show his sympathy in some small way than none at all.

A doctor appeared out of Caroline's room and the threesome all looked up expectantly, Chell for the first time in half an hour. "I won't lie to you," the doctor began solemnly, "but she's in a pretty bad shape. We have her hooked up to a WV and her brain transmissions are all over the place. She's calmer now – we've got her on some drugs to keep her still – and we've got her hooked up to some systems to keep the oxygen level in her blood high, but other than that… there's not much we can do. I'm sorry." The doctor looked sympathetically over the gathering, who seemed to wilt again at the news.

"Are you sure there's nothing?" demanded Rattmann, taking a step forward.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Whatever is wrong with her is inside her mind. We have technology that can fix a damaged brain, but we are not so advanced as to be able to cure unconscious thoughts."

Rattmann bowed his head. "Can we at least see her?"

"Of course." The doctor waved his hand to lead the way. "I must ask you to be quiet. Mrs. Redacted must not be disturbed."

Jack tried to slip away as Chell and Rattmann started to follow the doctor, but Chell caught him out of the corner of her eye. She held out her hand to him with such a pleading look that he took it in both his own, whispering consoling words in her ear, glad to know that he was not a burden to her after all. Chell's grip was tight and her face mask-like, but in her eyes Jack saw the child that Doctor Ley had known. The child who was afraid but kept going, the child who turned into a woman who took down GLaDOS, the woman who was hurt by a friend but kept doing all she could to escape to the sunlit lands above.

"Be brave," he whispered as the doctor opened the door. He pressed Chell's hand and they entered together.

Caroline lay in the pristine hospital bed, wrapped in cords and surrounded by machines. Her eyes were blank and staring and her mouth was open. She looked very old, the gray in her hair stark streaks amid the brown, her face sagging with weariness. She had an IV in her arm and she was hooked up to almost every system imaginable. Jack felt Chell's hand twitch as if she longed to yank Caroline free of the dreaded machinery that ensnared her, but she made no such desperate move.

"I'll leave you three alone," said the doctor. "The systems are on automatic, so feel free to stay as long as you would like." With another sympathetic look, the doctor left the room.

Rattmann sank into a chair beside Caroline and ran his fingers gently along her shoulder, moving a few strands of hair that lay across her face. "Caroline," he murmured, then seemed lost for words for a moment. He reached out to Chell, who took his hand in hers, and the three of them waited silently.

"She's going to be fine," stated Rattmann forcibly, his face turned away from the conscious two and toward the prone woman on the bed. "You hear me, Caroline? You haven't lived for three thousand and a half years to give up on us now. We believe in you to fight this fight and to win. You have the upper hand. When you wake up, we'll be waiting." And he sat back in his chair. Chell stood over him, letting go of Jack to put a hand on his shoulder. She didn't know how to be comforting, but she would give it her best shot.

Jack's comm buzzed and he walked a few steps away to take the call. "Hello?" he said quietly into the speaker.

"Are you Jack Bulmeir?" questioned an irritated voice on the other end.

"Yes, Jack Bulmeir speaking."

"This is Frank Josher from TT 56. The one you called to pick up the guy at Aperture Labs?"

"Yes?"

"We couldn't find him."

"What?" Jack's voice sounded loudly in the quiet room and he shot an apologetic glance at Chell and Doug, walking away a few more steps and adding in a quieter tone, "What do you mean you couldn't find him?"

"Just that. We went to the building, like you said, and waited outside. We even tried looking inside a little, calling for him to come out, but there was nothing. Nobody nowhere."

"Are you sure—"

"Listen, wise guy, I know my business. I take people from one place to another place, but if you think I'm gonna stand around all day and wait for a person who ain't there, you've got another thing coming. You called me up far out of my way to get this guy, and person or no person I need some compensation out of it. Are you going to give it to me or should I go to the police?"

"Of… of course," said Jack, taken aback by the drastic direction that Frank Josher was willing to go, but willing enough for a happy ending to this discussion. "I'll send the money over." He pushed a button on his comm and the appropriate amount was given to the TT driver. "There. It should be done transmuting now."

The driver never even said goodbye. Jack heard a click and then the line went dead. Jack sighed with a mental headshake over the man's customer service – and lack thereof – before turning to Doug and Chell. "That was the TT driver," he told them. "They couldn't find Wheatley."

"What?" asked Doug, both he and Chell looking startled. "How could they miss him?"

"The driver said that he tried looking around and calling inside the building for him, but they couldn't see anybody anywhere," explained Jack. "Although, something tells me that the driver might not have been that thorough about his search, so it might be possible that Wheatley is still there and very confused and that the driver was just mistaken."

"We need to go get him," said Rattmann, rising. "One of us should stay with Caroline, Jack, you have the car. The other one needs to-"

"I'll go," said Chell, suddenly breaking silence. Her gray eyes were flashing like storm clouds with this sudden spark of interest. "Jack and I will get Wheatley. You stay here."

"But—" started Rattmann, but stopped because he saw the expression in Chell's eyes. They were pleading, desperate. _Of course_, he thought. _Why didn't I see it before?_ Chell was used to solving puzzles, making her own way through objectives. Now that there was nothing to do but wait, forcing her to stay and do nothing would be the vilest cruelty. He could not ask her to do that. "Of course," he said at last. "Yes, of course. You and Jack go. I'll stay here and make sure Caroline stays safe."

Chell shot him a look of gratitude, took Jack by the hand, and headed straight for the hovercar. Having something else to fix her mind on – finding Wheatley – was a great relief. She was almost thankful that her friend had gotten lost, just so she had another occupation to distract her from Caroline.

"Just a minute… Chell, wait!"

Chell turned around impatiently as Rattmann hurried toward her and slapped something into her hand. A cubical black something. "Something I've been working on," he said. He flipped the thing over and showed her a large blue button on the side. "When you push here, it activates an ultra-magnified sound wave that can penetrate almost anything," Rattmann told her. "I have a matching set with a hyper-sensitive radar that can hear it. If you find Wheatley, press the button once. If you need my help, press it twice."

She still looked stubborn, Rattmann realized. She was uncomfortable with this. "Chell, look at me," he said, putting his hand to her cheek. "You don't have to do this alone anymore." His hand still in place, Rattmann looked over at Jack. "Make sure she calls if she needs to. Our girl is too obstinate for her own good."

With another smooth stroke of his thumb to brush back a stray lock of hair, Rattmann released her. "Go," he commanded. "Find Wheatley."

Chell got into the passenger side seat of Jack's hovercar, wishing that they were already at Aperture. Her eyes held the intense gaze usually reserved for testing and her hand gripped the arm rest with alarming strength.

"Do you want me to talk or keep quiet?" asked Jack as he pulled the hovercar smoothly out of its docking port.

"Talk," whispered Chell, her eyes fixed on the stretch ahead.

So Jack did, filling up the quiet with odd bits of information and strange stories about what was going on at his work. As he talked, he saw Chell relax slightly and even saw a smile flash in her eyes every so often when he shared a particularly funny story. He was no Wheatley, but Jack could prattle enough to keep the ghosts away. Right now, that was just what Chell needed.

For the second time that day, they coasted to a stop in the Aperture hovercar parking lot. Chell was out of her seat almost before they were parked, walking briskly toward the shining white building, scanning about with flinty eyes. Jack called Wheatley's name, hands cupped around his mouth to make a megaphone. There was no answer, no gangling, panicking figure to greet them. They walked around the building several times before venturing inside, but no Wheatley met them.

The doors were all unlocked, as Rattmann had said would happen. The lights above were their only trail, leading them down the darkened hallways. Jack still called every now and then, but only echoes responded. Chell peered into each office they passed. Still nothing, but now it felt as if ghosts followed them.

"I don't understand how he could have missed the way," commented Jack as they started down the stairs. "Everywhere else is shut off. Unless he likes pinballing through the darkness, I don't know where else he thought he would go."

Chell pushed open the appropriate door, almost expecting Wheatley to be there, staring at one of the screens or hunched in a hyperventilating heap, but the room was completely empty. She motioned to the microphone button, commanding with only the flick of her eyes and a slight nod. Jack understood and pressed down the button, beginning his broadcast at Wheatley's last known position.

Chell sat down in one of the chairs and began to scan the security camera footage. That failing, she rewound the footage back to when Wheatley first left the room. She followed his progress, only the very slightest huff of a laugh escaping when she saw his bewildered direction changes. He was probably still down there, she realized. All she had to do was follow his movements up until the present time and then go get him. Either that or he would respond to Jack first.

Chell sped the recording up a mark. Rattmann had only just taught her some of the tricks with the cameras and she was still undeniably clumsy when handling the system, losing track of Wheatley several times and skipping over to the next camera completely when he stopped moving. She backtracked immediately and saw Wheatley staring up at the lofty ceiling, mouth agape. _That's when I told him about Caroline_, Chell thought as she saw Wheatley's look change to one of alarm. She saw him wheel about, rushing pell-mell through the facility, trying to get back to where he had come from. Jack watched over her shoulder, his finger lifting off the microphone button.

"Where does he think he's going?" Jack asked.

"He thinks he can come with us," Chell answered, her voice soft. "He's trying to get to us before we leave."

"Got lost, did he?" Jack commented with a slight grin.

"It would seem—" Chell stood upright suddenly, sending the chair skidding backward into Jack. She ignored his exclamation of pain. Her eyes were fixed to the screen.

"What was that ab… Chell?" Jack's annoyance cut off short when he saw Chell's face, bleached white of all color. "Chell, what is it?"

That elevator he had just gone into. Chell's finger tapped the black number four on the screen, pressed down on it like a button.

"Oh," Jack murmured, his face going pale as well. "That's the one that goes to…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Chell was in action again, her eyes sparking with fear. She followed the elevator with the presumably panicking Wheatley inside, looking at it from every possible angle as it moved along, searching desperately for some way that the impending conclusion had somehow been waylaid.

It had not. Chell tuned into one of the cameras as the bottom of the elevator dropped out. Jack's gasp rang in her ears and all other thoughts and sounds she might have felt or heard were drowned out by the shattering of her heart. Just to make certain, she played the recording several times, but there could be no mistake. The very blurry image of Wheatley had been dropped into the incinerator.

"Chell." Jack's touch, as well as his voice, was gentle. "Chell."

She stiffened beneath his fingers. No. No she could not believe this. Wheatley would not die so easily as that. There must be something else, something she was missing. She reexamined the shot several times, her movements wild and uncoordinated, her hands shaking as they feverishly tapped the keyboard. Jack was startled by the madness that had flared up in her eyes, the flames that had been lit out of frenzied denial.

Chell tried to follow Wheatley's progress down the shaft, tracing him with the cameras, but her skill failed her. After several vain attempts, she pushed back the keyboard with a disgusted gesture and stood upright. She motioned Jack toward the microphone again. "Call the robots." Her tone was clipped. Tense. "Call them up here."

"Chell, what…?"

She wasn't listening. She had stalked across the room, picking up two small devices off of one of the desks, and examining them closely before slipping one onto her index finger. They looked like rings, looping around the finger and covering the very tip, each one seemingly crafted out of a shining silver. Chell's eyes were still agitated, but her movements were more precise as she tossed the second ring to Jack. "This is a ping tool," she told him. "Atlas and P-Body both have sensors that track the ping. If we point," and here she demonstrated, the ring letting out an electronic 'bing' sound as she did, "they can see what we pointed to on their internal viewscreens. That will let us control their portal movements more accurately."

Jack tried again to interject, but Chell brushed him off, leaning over the desk and pushing a large blue button, which began to blink intermittently. "Homing beacon," Chell explained in a murmur. "They'll find their way back soon."

"What are you doing?" Jack demanded as Chell swept past him again to stand impatiently by the open portal.

"I'm going after him," she answered.

"Chell—"

"I'm following the chute down," Chell said. She pointed at a layout displayed on one of the screens. "The closest route is through the Cooperative Testing courses. It will take some time, but if Wheatley escaped, he'll be trapped in one of those."

"Chell, listen—"

Chell's jaw clenched and her eyes flared dangerously, but she did not look at Jack or stop talking. "There's a testing apparatus containment unit in that general area. If I take a slight detour I might be able to find a jumpsuit and a portal gun there. It would take less time to solve the tests with three portal guns than with two, even if it is technically cheating—"

"Please listen to me."

Chell choked back a breath, which sounded suspiciously like a sob. "You don't want to come with me? Fine. Don't." She kept her face carefully turned away as she paced across the room once more.

"You know that's not what I meant." Jack managed to catch hold of her wrist and tugged her around to face him. What he saw in her face then was more alarming than the anger he had seen before. Chell's mask of calm was shattering before his eyes. She was close to tears, but holding herself back from shedding any, denial the only thing holding her together. In that one flash of a glance he gained before Chell ducked her head again, Jack saw just how broken she would be if she allowed herself to believe Wheatley dead. First Caroline, then Wheatley had hit her in a one-two punch, rocking her to her core. He had never seen Chell hurt by anything so deeply as this, the loss of her friend.

"You know what? It's a sound plan." Jack released Chell, his own heart aching as he saw hers crack. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "If Wheatley's down there, we'll find him."

"He's down there," Chell said tersely. She handed him the ping tool.

"You won't be talking?" Jack inquired, sliding the ping tool onto his finger.

Chell shook her head. Her time of silence had already begun.

Jack nodded. "Very well."

Atlas and P-Body emerged through the portal, each nervously wondering if this summons had anything to do with the human they had encountered.

Jack stepped forward, looking from one orange eye to the blue one. "Wheatley has gone missing," he announced to the robots. "Chell thinks he's going to be around the shaft that goes to the incinerator from elevator number four. We need your help to get through the testing tracks. This here," he tapped the screen, "is our route."

Atlas and P-Body examined the screen intently, chittering to one another, seemingly excited about the new quest.

"Chell and I will guide you through the test with our ping tools," Jack resumed, urged to continue by his girlfriend's silent stare. "You both have your portal guns, I presume?"

The two robots lifted their Aperture Science Handheld Portal Devices with a proud trill.

"Then let's go," finished Jack. "We have no time to waste."

P-Body and Atlas spun around abruptly as he finished and headed for the portal. Jack looked at Chell with raised eyebrows, silently asking if he had done well. He was greeted with a look of thanks. He smiled back, but inside his gut twisted. How long could she keep up her shield? Defiance against reality would get her nowhere and might even break her worse when the moment of truth finally came. Nevertheless, he would help her as best as he could. When the breaking point came, he would help her as he had always helped her. Because he loved her. And he would never stop.

Never.

**()-()**

**Although Virgil was, as he put it, 'in the junkyard', his voice guided Mel through the test chambers, no longer disguised by a fake American accent. However, this also meant that he was free to display his true character, which became much less concerned about Mel's hypothetically delicate heart as the chambers went by. She bruised herself considerably trying to toss herself through a window into a control room, then came in close contact with the bullet-shooting turrets, one of whom winded her as she knocked it over, speeding past on the orange-colored speed gel.**

**Feeling aches spreading their tentacles all over her body, Mel followed Virgil's instructions again down yet another catwalk, feeling relieved as he told her that there was a straight shot to the next testing track from then out. After they got past the door with the valve on it, of course. That proved to be more difficult than they previously thought.**

"**Do it again," urged Virgil as she tugged on the door. "It'll open this time, I swear. Just give it some elbow grease."**

**It did not.**

"**Oh, come on. You've got this! One more shot!"**

**Mel put down the portal gun and hung on the valve. The deadly acid lake around the catwalk she stood on seemed to have corroded the door. The door was slimy and rusted, the wheel giving only a little bit before clicking back into place. Mel gasped with the exertion.**

"**Well, great," snapped Virgil. "You can fling yourself all over the place and get past some old turrets that are firing live rounds, but you can't get a door open? What kind of olympian are you?"**

**Mel scowled pointedly up at the ceiling. She was an olympian who had been in cryogenic suspension for who-knew-how-long, had probable impending heart failure, and was obliged to follow the demands of a voice of a core – whatever that was – she had never met, trusting in his good will to get them both out of there. She grumpily left the area as Virgil opened up a nearby – longer – route, shouldering her portal gun once more.**

**She was a bit soothed when Virgil spoonfed her a little more information in the next chamber. "Aperture's early tests weren't always that… successful," he said tentatively, no doubt looking her over for signs of a heart attack. "You were unlucky. That was the worst test Cave Johnson ever greenlit. But it's nice for me to have an olympian at my disposal."**

**And here he sounded downright smug, which rankled Mel's mood again.**

"**Yeah, I have that information from you on the nineteen-thirty-six Nuremburg Olympics. You should have gotten that silver medal."**

**This only served to deteriorate Mel's mood even farther. Why couldn't she remember any of this? Why wasn't he telling her anything?**

**In the next chamber, Mel tried to strike out on her own, but this only dragged down Virgil's mood to join her own. Heading straight for the employee elevator? Only sarcasm from Virgil and no working elevator. Striking out through a portal shot to a nearly invisible white panel to the left, heading up toward the door up above? Virgil plagued her all the way up there, telling her that there was nothing up there, that she was wasting her time. Mel tuned him out and pushed even harder up the ever-climbing stairs. She would show him. He was only jealous because she had discovered something that he hadn't.**

**The valve on this door turned easily. Too easily. There was a snap and it fell to Mel's feet, the door even more impenetrable than before.**

"**See? I told you!" Virgil exclaimed. "Mel, we need to talk. I know some cores lie really badly about things like that, but I was telling the truth. Trust me a little more, huh?"**

**Chagrinned, Mel started back down. Maybe he was right. Maybe he acted so high-and-mighty because he really did have the information she needed.**

"**Oh, and I hope you enjoy the long walk down."**

**Mel scowled at this rejoinder. As if she needed another quip.**

**Climbing into the lift to the next level of the testing sphere, Virgil's voice greeted her with a sigh. "Alright, look. I'm sorry for what I said back there. We're in this together, you're my ticket out of the junkyard down here, I'm your ticket to the outside world. I'll do my best to keep the insults at a minimum. Just… try harder next time?"**

**Mel shrugged and nodded at this quasi-apology, letting her irritation seep away. What he said was fair enough. They did have to work together, it was true. Trust was the only way to solve their problem. And as for trying harder? Well, she did spend a lot of time searching for alternative options in that last chamber, but she wasn't sure she would change that. Always have a backup plan if possible. Partial obedience for a partial apology. **

**The next chamber was in testing sphere Lema Whiskey. Virgil warned her that it might not be easy, but went on to say that he had full confidence in his olympan (who might not have a beating heart anymore). With knowledge of his faith, Mel stuck all her concentration on the test at hand and focused on getting through without plunging into the toxic goo at the bottom. It took her some time, but she managed to get through the first couple chambers without trouble.**

**Then Virgil spoke again and there was definite unease in his voice.**

"**Wait a second… I'm getting some strange voice coming through."**

**Mel's brows pinched together. **_**Voice?**_

"**I'll patch it through."**

**Virgil seamlessly made the connection and the strange voice grated through the overhead speakers, sending an electric prickle up Mel's spine. "Scanning Lema Whiskey; seventy percent complete. No vital semblance detected. Initiating flooding procedure."**

**Virgil began to say, "That's coming up from New Aperture," but the room gave a sudden violent quake, cutting him off. Mel struggled to stay on her feet. The lights flickered and Mel wondered briefly if she could solve the test in the pitch-black of the underground if they failed altogether.**

"**What the…" Virgil gasped. "My scans are going nuts! Something's happening. The sphere's unstable. Get out of here! Run!"**

**Mel's heart began to pound and she felt adrenaline shoot through her systems. If there would be a time she would give into a chemical-induced heart attack, it was now. Mel could feel alarm spiking through her body, urging her feet to quicken their pace. But no. She would not give in. She took a deep breath to calm her thumping heart, took another look around, and began to methodically solve the test as quickly as possible. Panicking would get her nowhere. She would run, yes, but only when necessary. Only when she could see the racetrack.**

**()-()**

Being lost in Aperture was a lot more fun if you had someone to share it with, Wheatley had come to realize. On a scale of one to ten – with one being throwing your only friend down a hole, testing them almost to death, and then being cast into space and ten being a pleasure tour through Aperture with a map and all the turrets defunct – then this would be around an eight-point-five. Maybe even a solid nine.

Whatever the reason, Wheatley was close to having the time of his life.

Anyone listening in from a distance would have thought that there was a lone crazy man wandering in the depths, carrying on a one-sided conversation with an imaginary friend, but he was only answering to Mel's silent gestures. Wheatley was getting an absolute kick out of having a partner who – although she was mute – could communicate, and even better, enjoyed communicating. With him, no less!

Mel seemed curious about the facility, who he was, and basically everything about what he knew best. Wheatley would have given Mel the information even if she had not asked for it, but since she _had_ asked he was more than happy to oblige. The only thing he kept from her was his piece of treachery and exactly how he got into space. After they had been walking for a while, Wheatley actually considered telling her about it. She would understand, wouldn't she?

A vision arose in his mind with startling swiftness: Mel looking startled, her hands forming the words, 'You did that? How do I know you won't do that to me?' and then her turning and running away.

Wheatley gulped, shying away from the idea which had seemed not so improbable just a moment before. No, no. Better to keep things the way they were, which was, at the moment, pretty close to perfect.

"I kind of wish that I knew how I knew this," Wheatley mentioned off-hand. "I mean, all the signing and everything. I can hear it pretty well – well, not hear it as in _hearing_ it exactly – but I can understand it, you know. But I don't think I can use it myself."

He attempted to sign out the words, 'My name is W-H-E-A-T-L-E-Y,' but his fingers moved slowly and clumsily so he gave up halfway through. "See? My fingers get all tangled. At least you're not deaf and you can hear me speak the normal way. Much, much easier for me, if you don't mind me saying."

Mel shrugged with a smile. She was just happy to finally carry on a normal conversation for once. It was refreshing.

They had been walking for some time at this point, always keeping an eye on that looping management rail on the ceiling, following it around twisting corridors, through manufacturing grids, and between pipes carrying boxes and goo to test chambers, when their guide suddenly disappeared into an opening in the wall. The door beside it swiveled open automatically, displaying a ready testing track.

"Ohh, okay." Wheatley looked tentatively at Mel to gauge her reaction. "Um… okay… you probably don't want to hear this… but that management rail goes through this testing track and out the other side to get to the core's central hub. In order to follow it, we need to get through this testing track and out the other side. I know, I know," he flinched away, not meeting her eyes, "you don't want to do it, you've had enough of testing the first time 'round. But… mm… it's literally our only option here. Either that or sit here. Forever. Just… not doing anything. Up to you, really."

Mel tugged on his sleeve. 'Let's go,' she signed, and Wheatley was surprised to see not a hint of annoyance on her face.

"Really?" he blurted. "I mean, I'd think that you'd be dead tired of tests. You must have gone through a million of 'em to get out the first time."

'Not a million,' Mel signed with an eye roll. She quirked her head toward the open door and stepped inside. Wheatley followed her.

"Wowwww," Wheatley drawled, slowly turning around and examining his surroundings. He had had a lot of experience with test chambers before. Overseeing test subjects when he was a human, peeking in on some when he was a core secretly watching Chell and trying to stay off of Her radar, and then finally creating one of his own test chambers – not to mention mixing and matching Hers to make better ones – but as a human he had never actually stood in a chamber on his own two legs, holding a portal gun of his own, like a real test subject. It made him feel…

Small. Truly miniscule. The panels which seemed of regular size when you were seeing them through a camera were so much larger in person, the room as cold as reality. Wheatley shivered. He was used to feeling small as a core. Of course the room would be bigger than you – it was meant for big, fleshy test subjects! – but now that he was one of those subjects, even a taller one than average, he found the whole thing to be altogether intimidating.

He snuck a peek at Mel, who was also looking around. She didn't look intimidated. She looked calculating.

Of course. She was an old pro at this. Well, he could be just as brave as her, just let her wait and see.

"Umm… okay," he said, standing a little straighter. "Don't know if you know this, but I'm bit of an expert at test chambers. Old resident of Aperture – saw tests all the time. Nothing to me. So, being such a pro at this means that we should definitely start by… looking around. Yeah, that's a good start. Just standing here and trying to see where everything is."

Wheatley let go as Mel gently tugged the portal gun out of his hands. He heard her shooting portals around somewhere in the background, but he paid her no mind. He was still looking around.

"Okay, so we've got… aaaaannnn… exit! Oh, good, we've got an exit. Very important, that bit. We've also got a deadly pit over there that goes down into nothingness – I would stay away from that if possible. Ooh! And- and we've got a cube dispenser thing. Or, that's what we think it is, at least. We really won't know until we press the…"

Wheatley pressed down the button. There was a rattling sound and one of the Aperture Weighted Storage Cubes came rattling out of the chute. Mel picked it up with Old Reliable's grab beam almost as soon as it landed.

"Okay, so we know that is definitely a cube dispenser. So that's good to know. Um… let's see, what else have we got?" Wheatley gave another pivot. "Lots of portal surfaces, so got that all covered. The entrance, where we just came from. And a ledge, where the exit is. I think that's all – I think I covered everything. Can you see anything else, Mel? Wait, Mel? Where are you?"

Wheatley, suddenly realizing that Mel had not been standing beside him listening patiently as he talked, spun about. "Where'd you go? It's not a good idea to wander off, you know!" he called. "You could get lost! Well, maybe not in a test chamber, but… there could be turrets around here! You never know!"

He was alerted by a clicking sound from the direction of the ledge. There was Mel, snapping her fingers to get his attention. "Oh, there you are!" Wheatley exclaimed. "And you've solved the test! Wait, seriously, you solved the test? Just like that?"

Mel gestured proudly to the cube which she had placed on a button to open the exit. Wheatley, gawking, walked through the portal she had evidently placed earlier to join her on the ledge. "But… seriously, you just did that in about thirty seconds flat! How did you do that?"

Mel shrugged and handed Wheatley back the portal gun, signing, 'It wasn't that hard a puzzle. I've done much harder. This one must be a beginner room.'

Wheatley stared at Mel with a new respect. She had practically called this room easy! True, it didn't have any of the 'advanced' testing apparatus, like one of those flippy things which tossed you into the air, or a shooting range of turrets or anything, but she acted like she had just walked across the room to the exit or something. He had once thought he would never find a woman as smart or as wonderful as Chell, and he wasn't saying that Mel was, but all he was saying was that maybe – just maybe – they were at a tie.

"Well, I think you did brilliantly," Wheatley told her. Mel's cheeks flushed and she bobbed a little curtsey, which was quaint but cute at the same time.

Mel turned to leave through the open door, but a garbled gasp from Wheatley stopped her in her tracks. She wheeled around and saw his face, drained of blood, eyes wide and staring into nothing, his hands holding the portal gun limply in his fingers. Old Reliable dropped and Mel caught it just in time, setting it safely on the floor. As worried as she was about Wheatley, she had once been told that the portal gun was generally unstable. She didn't want to chance them all being blown to high heaven just because it was knocked the wrong way.

After that danger was safely set aside, Mel gripped Wheatley's sleeve, staring up into his face. She tugged, willing him with that motion to tell her what was wrong, to say what had troubled him in so violent a way.

"My sister," whispered Wheatley, his eyes still blank. "I… I didn't think… but how could I have forgotten? I had a sister…"

Mel's brow clenched and she tugged again. It made no difference.

"She's dead."

Mel's grip relaxed and pity flooded her eyes. Her touch became a consoling one instead of demanding.

"I mean, they're all dead now. Every one of 'em. Been so long. But… not her – she- she was dead before."

Wheatley looked down at Mel at last, his brow pinched with a combination of fear, sorrow, and hurt. There wasn't even a hint of his smile, now. "I wasn't even thinking about it. Wasn't even wondering why… but- but that's why I can understand you when you talk with your hands like that. My sister couldn't speak. She had to sign like that to make me hear what she was trying to say. She was so little… such a little tiny thing. And then… oh, God!"

With a moan, Wheatley sank to his knees looking old and frightened and mournful. "He killed her," he whispered, voice high and choked. "A drunk driver one night when she was crossing the street with her friends. I didn't even hear about it until the next morning because I was asleep when it happened. 'N I woke up the next morning and they told me…"

Wheatley's throat failed him and he leaned over, burying his face in his knees, curled into a wet, sobbing ball. Even though his eyes were closed, he could see her so clearly in his mind. The little girl who had been his sister, running through the English countryside, talking with her fingers while he chatted back. Everybody loved her. He had been gangling and awkward, she sweet and beautiful, but they had somehow balanced each other out. Her golden hair was never bound in a ponytail. If anything, it was either loose or in a braid. She always wore a skirt. She would curtsey when she was pleased.

How old had she been when she had died? Hard to remember. Not much older than twelve, which would have made him… fifteen? Sixteen? Somewhere around that age. He had come downstairs to see his mum crying, his dad talking to the police. The first thought that had crossed his mind had been, 'oh no, what did I do this time that the police are after me?' and along with that the urge to run.

But they told him what had happened. He didn't want to believe, running back to his room and putting the covers up over his head, pretending it was all a bad dream and that he would wake up in the morning and she would be back again. Just a dream.

It had been thousands of years ago, and yet as the memories burst open like time bombs before his mind Wheatley felt the pain of it all as if it had happened only a second before. The death of his sister was raw and sharp, as painful as the day it had first smitten him. Too powerful. Too harsh.

Wheatley couldn't remember when his denial faded and truth set in. All he remembered was the feeling that everything was falling apart, that life would never be the same, and a great overpowering hatred for the man who had killed his sister bubbling up in his heart. He imagined the scenario over and over again. He would have been with his sister when she was crossing the street. He would have pulled her aside or let the car break him instead. Anything would have been better if his sister lived.

He remembered a new school, but the people were all the same, laughing at him, teasing him for being so tall, calling him clumsy or stupid. He learned to put on a smile through it all, even though he was hurting inside. Even though everything was collapsing before his eyes. Even though nothing ever went right for him.

After some time, the pain dried up inside him. It was the way of the world, that was all. It was cruel, it had always been cruel, and would always be cruel. Someday he would change that. Someday he would do spectacular things to make the world better. His uncle had told him about a facility in America – Aperture Science Facilities. His uncle worked there, and he wanted to bring him in so he could get a proper job (for once).

It all had to do with attitude. Put on a smile – brighter days were coming. They can't hurt you if all you do is smile.

But now Wheatley could handle it no longer. That scab which had been healed for thousands of years had suddenly been freshly ripped open and he lay curled up on the floor, his heart breaking with the pressure of years of memories. It hurt. His head, his heart. Everything seemed to ache from the pressure within.

Dimly, through the unquenchable onslaught of grief, Wheatley could feel arms wrapping themselves around him and a chin resting on his forehead, hands rubbing a smooth circle on his back. Mel's face, both concerned and understanding, was the first thing he saw when he opened his bleary eyes when they were finally dry of tears. When he was ready, she helped him to sit upright. Wheatley tried to regain his smile, but it was cracked, fractured, and unreliable. "Sorry," he sniffled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "It happened so long ago, but it's just… sorry. I- I'm sorry."

'What was her name?' Mel asked.

Wheatley shrugged, his eyes shifting from Mel's fingers to his own, which were clenched in his lap. "I dunno. I can't remember. It's like that with these memories. Some of 'em you can think of right off and they're clear as daylight, but others only come back with triggers. Smells and things. And- and others… they come back but they're not whole. Bits and pieces are missing… and they never come back."

Mel nodded slowly and now her eyes were downcast as well. 'At least you have memories,' she signed bitterly.

"Wh- what? Does that mean you don't?" Wheatley questioned.

Mel shook her head. 'Not from before this place. Like you said, bits and pieces. Not much.'

"What can you remember?" Wheatley's voice was softer than anyone had ever heard it before. Surprisingly gentle in the stillness.

'Faces. The Olympics, a little bit. I get scared when people touch me the wrong way, or wave their hands, sometimes.'

"Do I scare you?"

Mel shook her head again and smiled up at Wheatley's probing face, his eyes still bloodshot and swollen, cheeks still damp with tears. He was so sweet, trying to be helpful. 'No. Not you.'

When Wheatley's smile came back, it was genuine. He clumsily clambered to his feet, picking up the portal gun, and gave Mel a hand to raise her up. "No promises," he said, "but I'll try not to startle you."

'I will try not to trigger your memories,' she rejoined, squaring her shoulders.

Wheatley grinned and nodded down at his shoes. He cleared his throat one last time. "Okay, back to business. We still have quite a few test chambers before we get to the core hub. So, into the lift first, I suppose. After you, my lady."


	7. Chapter 7: The Revelation

**Chapter Seven**

**The Revelation**

The cooperative tests were difficult. Although thinking with four portals opened up some ways that were unavailable with only two, Jack was struggling to wrap his brain around the whole concept of inter-dimensional gateways and how to use these to solve puzzles. Nevertheless, there was something satisfying about having the door swivel open at the end and look back over a chamber well-solved.

Chell, on the other hand, appeared unimpressed by the entire process. Her face had been frozen as if formed out of a solid mask, expression unchanging. Only once did Jack see her countenance shift, and that was when P-Body accidentally fell into one of the many acid pits and exploded on impact with the noxious green hazard. Then Chell looked startled, even close to the brink of terror. Jack could practically see the gears working in her head trying to figure out how to get through those puzzles with just one portal gun.

But then the reassembly machine spit a newly constructed P-Body down to join them and Chell's face relaxed back into the mask again. There it stayed until they arrived at the Testing Apparatus Containment Unit, a large storage area with enough security cameras to cover the rest of Aperture and a massive assortment of differing security measures that were, thankfully, turned off while the facility was in default.

Chell wasted no time in finding two portal guns that looked relatively safe, as well as two jumpsuits in decent condition. Taking a pair for herself, she held out the others to Jack, who took them, looking puzzled.

"The gun I understand," he said, "but is the jumpsuit really necessary?"

Chell gave a curt nod and began to pull the jumpsuit on over her pants. She considered breaking silence to tell him about the suit's lead lining and protective measures against some of the gels and other hazardous materials they might encounter, but she did not. Jack was merely curious, not rebellious. Not a warrant for a full answer.

Jack rubbed his thumb over the thick orange material before tucking his portal gun under his arm and tugging it on. The jumpsuit was a little large and he had to roll up the cuffs, but overall not a bad fit. It was heavy, but not too cumbersome. Scratchy, but not unpleasant. He couldn't help wondering just how long it lay here, hidden by miles of facility, separated from the outside world. He also wondered who its original owner was, or if it had ever had an owner before. He wondered the same about the portal gun.

Chell zipped the top of her blue jumpsuit shut, pulling her hair free from the collar. She had delved into Aperture's depths once before without full jumpsuit coverage, which had cost her a month of detoxing chemicals. Never again. This time she would keep as much of her body covered as possible, thank you.

Some Long-Fall Boots added to the mix and then they were ready. With a jerk of her head and a motion to the robots with her ping tool, Chell led them back toward the testing tracks. With four portal guns in the mix, their progress became much quicker, the chambers' difficulty shifting from strenuous to effortless.

Still Chell rushed them on. Every chamber was solved too slowly and every elevator ride was a tense affair because Chell's body was so taut, like a bowstring drawn back and ready to fire. Even the robots felt her intensity, and in turn did the best that they could, trying to ease her mood by acting cheerful, waving gleefully from high platforms, doing happy dances when the doors opened, and then glancing at her to gauge her expression.

They gained no relief. Chell ignored them as if they had been weighted storage cubes, brushing by into the next chamber with as much warmth as an icy breeze.

Tired of her brusqueness, Jack adjourned in a nearby crevice while Chell directed the robots through the test, and found himself suddenly in a small, closed-off, dirty room he had not expected to find. Bean cans littered the floor and the air was stale. There was a gaping hole in the far wall, the black expanse behind it falling down as far as far as the eye could see. Strangest of all were the scribblings on the walls which featured smudged poetic phrases, queer pictures, and strange interpretations of Aperture's interlocking mechanisms. Jack's stomach twisted as he realized that he had stumbled upon one of the dens that Doug Rattmann had once inhabited. It made him almost sick to finally understand that the quiet man he had met up above had once been prey to such madness. Jack reached out a hand toward one of the scribblings, which read, 'Underlying Logic', and rubbed at the U. The charcoal sifted off on his hand. He shivered, the room suddenly turning cold.

Chell's footsteps approached and suddenly she was beside him. Jack felt awkward as if he had entered a sacred place. He waved a hand at the walls. "Doctor Rattmann's?" he asked.

Chell's only answer was a nod. She tugged at his sleeve and gestured to the exit. "We're almost there," she murmured, her voice low enough that no one outside could hear.

"Chell." Jack gripped her arm and brought her to a standstill. She could not look at him, hating to see those deep, caring eyes. Hating…

"I can't." Her voice cracked and she tugged away, retreating back into the room, clutching her arms around her. "I can't give up – turn back. Not now."

"Chell, my love…"

_Luv._

Chell turned her back to him, gripping the edge of the wall's jagged opening, gazing over the precipice, feeling the choke rise in her throat and the cold air sifting up from below. The opening seemed to be into a sort of chute. Probably the incinerator chute Wheatley had fallen through before.

_No tears. No tears. You can do this. He's still alive. He's…_

Something clicked into place and Chell felt herself stiffen in shock. Jack looked surprised when she swiveled around, eyes suddenly alight. She snatched his hand. "Feel," she whispered, holding it above the chute.

Jack's brow pursed. "Am I supposed to be sensing something?" he questioned.

"The air is cold." Chell's voice was unsteady from suppressed hope. "This air comes from the incinerator. Maybe…"

Now Jack was the one who looked shocked. "…Maybe if the air is cold… so is the incinerator," he finished for her.

Chell nodded several times very fast. "Get the robots," she commanded. "Send them down first, just in case."

"If it's dangerous, they'll be rebuilt. If not, they'll send us a ping," Jack added, sprinting from the room and gathering Atlas and P-Body, who had already solved the test and were wondering what had happened to their humans and what they were supposed to do next.

P-Body was sent down first because it was the slimmer of the two and less likely to get caught in the chute. "One ping if there's trouble, two if you've reached the bottom in safety," commanded Jack, and with a salute, P-Body disappeared.

There was a tense waiting period while the sound of P-Body's sliding became steadily dimmer. Then silence fell and all that could be heard was Atlas' nervous creaking as it shifted from foot to foot. There was more than enough time to wonder if anything had gone wrong and worry about what to do next.

'_Ping! Ping!_'

Chell audibly gasped in relief and Jack laughed. Atlas made a little chirruping sound and gestured to the chute, dancing a little in suppressed excitement. "Be my guest," said Jack, and with a screech of joy, Atlas followed P-Body down the chute.

Chell waited ten seconds before lowering herself into the chute. Jack waited ten seconds after her. His hands had trouble letting go of the wall.

His Long-Fall Boots squealed against the tube and Jack skinned his hand against the smooth side. The air grew warmer as he descended and he had a flash of doubt. Just because the robots were alright didn't mean that the incinerator was safe for humans. They could probably survive in extreme heat that would melt the flesh off his bones. What if he had just followed Chell into a death trap?

The chute ended abruptly and Jack skidded out the end, digging his boots into the uneven ground and coming to an awkward stop. Not dead, he reminded himself. That was a good thing. Very not dead.

And neither was Chell. She stood a few yards ahead, scanning the area, surveying the collection of disused rubbish that had landed in the incinerator. Atlas and P-Body were nearby as well, already picking their way through the garbage.

Chell turned around and held out her hand to him. Treading carefully, Jack joined her, grasping her hand in his. "You were right," he said softly. "He's still alive, somewhere. We'll find him."

Chell's only answer was a smile.

**()-()**

"Um… okay. Okay, I know this opens up somehow. Never done it before, but it does, just trust me on this. I think you have to stick your fingers in here, wiggle them a little, and…"

Wheatley, who had not been expecting anything to happen, yelped and tumbled backward as the almost indiscernible hidden keypad popped out of the wall with a grinding noise and a faint hiss.

"I knew- I knew that would happen," Wheatley averred, resuming his dangerously unstable squatting position. He laced his fingers together and turned the palms inside out, cracking his knuckles in a very impressive manner (he thought). "So, secret button pressed, keypad activated… let's get started on this!"

Mel leaned over his shoulder, cradling the portal gun in the crook of her arm, peering down at the tiny keypad that had popped out next to the obnoxiously bright screen which – according to Wheatley – opened the door to the Core Hub. They had solved several test chambers, finally having to sneak through a conveniently open vent, then walked through a couple miles of undeveloped background, always following that snaking management rail which had finally led them here, where Wheatley had declared that their journey had almost ended.

"Just have to hack our way in, I suppose. There's a passcode thingy here… s'pose we'll have to guess the password to get in. Hm. You know, I knew a few passwords when I was a core. Not all of 'em, just, you know, just enough to get by. Through areas I had to go through. Can't remember any of them at the moment. Ah… how- how good are you at hacking? You know what, never mind. Doesn't really matter. Not like it's going to trip the system or anything like that. Perfectly fine. Harmless. Harmless hacking, doing a bit of hacking," he began to sing, inspecting the screen. He looked up at Mel sheepishly. "Probably I- probably shouldn't sing."

Before Mel could answer, the screen emitted a negative-sounding bleep and Wheatley almost knocked Mel's legs out from under her as he tipped again. "Oh, God, what was that? I didn't do anything, I… oh wait, yes, yes I did, actually. Just pressed the 'submit password' button and I didn't type anything. Ha, that's- that's sort of funny, really."

Giving up on squatting, Wheatley sat on the ground like an extremely lanky praying mantis playing criss-cross-applesauce. "Oh, but see here?" He pressed on the screen, the light around his finger going white. "Something good came out of that, there. See, now we know how many letters or numbers it has to have. Four. Four random letters or- or numbers. That's what we need to get through here. Oh, wait, this keypad has only numbers. Hmm. Well, okay, then. Let's just assume that we're not going for letters. If we run out of numbers and it still doesn't work, then we have a problem, but let's just assume, just for the moment, that since it's giving us only numbers, we only have to use those. Cuts down on a lot of options there. Okay, how about 'one two three four'?"

Again the bleep sounded, a little more ominously than before. Wheatley winced. "Oh. Um… okay." He looked sheepishly up at Mel. "Is- is this a bad time to mention that we have only three attempts? Be-before it locks us out?"

Mel's brain went on instant high alert. They could not afford to miss this code! She began rummaging through her brain to think of possible number combinations, mentally backtracking their steps. One attempt wasted, one wrong. One left.

"Alright, okay, forget the passcode. Let's just try knocking." Wheatley scrambled to his feet and pounded on the door. "Hello? Mister Virgil core? If you can hear me, would you please open up? Oi! I've got- ow!" Wheatley grimaced and cradled his fist. "Okay, that hurt. That really hurt. Okay, never mind. How about… manual force? Run at the door… and it should open. Give it enough force and I can shove it right open."

The sequence clicked into place in Mel's mind and she tugged on Wheatley's arm before he could hurt himself. 'Two, zero, five, six,' she signed.

"Wh- what's that supposed to mean?" Wheatley asked, bewildered. "Why are you signing random numbers at me? If you're trying to count down until I charge the door, I think you got the sequence a little—"

'The password!" Mel juggled the portal gun as she tried to sign. 'The password is two, zero, five, six!'

"Are you sure? We've got one chance left. Literally, last straw going on here, so unless you're really sure…"

Mel brushed past him and squatted in front of the screen, tapping out the numbers on the keypad. Before Wheatley could exclaim anything other than, "Mel, please just think about this," she had pressed the 'enter' key.

The screen turned green and a jubilant chime was emitted. Mel shot to her feet as the door creaked and groaned, cycling open in front of them.

"Oh, would you look at that." Wheatley blinked at the open entrance. "How- how did you know that was going to work?"

'Lucky guess,' Mel signed smugly.

"Very lucky, apparently." Wheatley rubbed his hands together, suddenly unwilling to go through that dark doorway. Was it just him or did the air seem colder in there? It was certainly dark and creepy, the dusty strip ceiling lights barely letting any light shine through.

Pushing down his feelings of unease, at least for the moment, Wheatley waved a hand toward the opening. "Well then, let's go find that friend of yours."

Mel strode through boldly, craning her neck this way and that. Wheatley followed more timidly. The way he peered about made it seem as if he was waiting for something to jump out at them instead of simply searching for a friend. Their footsteps were muffled by a millennium's worth of dust piled up into a second floor which was swept up into little dust bunnies with their passing, skittering along into the shadows like live mice. Clearly nobody had set foot in this place for a very long time.

Wheatley hardly recognized this place. Sure, things were bound to change over a few thousand years, but a change of this magnitude nearly took his breath away. The management rails, although still humming with energy, had not been oiled in some time. He noticed with a wince a few remnants of forgotten cores who had fallen off their rails just to die here, covered in dust, unable to operate without the power which sustained them.

Vines hung over and around the walls. Mostly potato vines, Wheatley realized as he noticed some thick brown tubers poking their heads above the dirt which lay beneath the dust. Even some little bushes had decided to take root here, dying soon afterwards, it seemed, for here and there the dead plants protruded from the earth, rearing up like ghosts of their former selves. Like tombstones.

Wheatley jumped as Mel put her hand on his shoulder. The light from her portal gun gave her face a weird green underlighting, hollowing out her cheekbones and the sockets of her eyes. Wheatley was so unnerved by this apparition that he barely caught the final word of Mel's signed command.

"C-call?" he stammered. "You want me to call him, do you?"

Mel nodded.

Wheatley gulped and screwed up his courage. Breaking the silence around them seemed like a very dangerous thing to do, but if Mel commanded it be so, so it would be.

"H-hello?" he called, and then a bit louder, "Um… hello? Sorry to intrude, but I'm here looking for someone. Just a core, regular old core. Name's Virgil. Anyone seen Virgil? Anywhere? At all? Anyone?"

His voice faded back down into a whisper. Wheatley cleared his throat and continued, "I know, I know, strange request. Me down here wanting to see a core… but- but it is fairly important that we find him, you know, pretty soon. Came a long way and all that. So, if anyone…"

Wheatley trailed off again and the silence mended itself. He leaned over toward Mel, who was peering about expectantly. "Okay, I'm not sure if we did the right thing, coming here," he whispered. "Nobody's been here in a very, very long time, obviously, so… mm… don't you think that we, ah…" His feet skittered nervously, kicking up even more dust, strangely illumined in the scant light. "I just don't think that it's right for us to be in here, what with all the deactivated cores and all. Sort of like a graveyard, isn't it? M-maybe we should—"

"Mel?"

Wheatley whirled around, sucking in a deep gasp of air and promptly doubled over coughing on dust. Mel, on the other hand, was beaming, her whole face shining in the light of a core's brilliant optic, shaped like the old Aperture symbol, colored yellow and orange, currently opened wide in shock.

"I… I can't believe it!" exclaimed the core, sliding a bit closer on the management rail, which squealed a bit with his passage. "Mel? It's really you, isn't it? It's not just my optic tricking me?"

Mel nodded and reached up a hand to touch the core's lower handlebar. The core's eyelids opened even wider with her touch, shuddering slightly.

"Mel." Its voice cracked, gaining a strange hitch that had nothing to do with its native accent. "Mel, what are you doing here? You were away from here, you were safe! Why…?"

"She was looking for you." Wheatley spoke up, mostly recovering from his coughing fit.

"Who is this?" the core demanded, looking from Mel to Wheatley. "Did you bring her back here?" His tone turned sharp.

"No, I didn't bring her back here! She jumped right into the facility, we bumped into each other on one of the lower levels!" Wheatley coughed again, trying to free up the last few unwanted dust particles. "Sort of fell in with each other, if you will. I'm Wheatley, by the way. And you must be Virgil."

"Yes," answered Virgil, his voice still somewhat tart. His optic narrowed suspiciously. "I know you from somewhere… don't I? Wait, I can't see you properly. Let me turn the lights on."

No sooner said then the lights shot to maximum, some of them spraying sparks as they ignited. Wheatley yelped and Mel covered her eyes.

"Oops. Sorry," apologized Virgil's voice as the lights dimmed to normal setting. "There. That's better."

Virgil was not – like many of the other cores around and, indeed, like Wheatley had been himself – a silver-gray core. His shell had been painted a rich brown with a white inside. A floral pattern decorated the metal ring surrounding his optic, in a still darker autumnal color palette. His voice was both choppy and smooth, a Norwegian accent that which none in that time period had heard before. He seemed in turn to be both demanding and compassionate, dominating yet distant. This was Mel's friend, Virgil.

"How did you do that?" exclaimed Wheatley, rubbing his smarting eyes.

"What, the lights thing? I'm fully Wi-Fi capable. I can hook up with most of the systems in this place: lights, the speakers, you name it."

"Wi-Fi… what do you mean Wi-Fi? None of the other cores had Wi-Fi!" Wheatley felt slightly jilted. Had he been Wi-Fi capable the whole time he was a core and not known it?"

"Eh, I downloaded a few extra applications in my spare time," Virgil answered with a motion like a shrug. "No big deal."

Wheatley thought personally that this was a rather big deal – being a gross state of inequity and all that – but he was prepared to drop the question so that Mel didn't think of him as once being an inferior core.

Mel stepped forward and signed around the portal gun she still held, 'What are you doing here?'

"Mel, why did you come here?" Virgil asked, completely ignoring her gestures. "I don't understand why you would—"

"Um, I believe she asked the question first, if you don't mind," interrupted Wheatley. He had seen the look Virgil had given Mel when she signed her words – rather like the look he himself had given Chell when she jumped for an answer. It was a look that said, clear as daylight, that this was a poor, simple, brain damaged woman who needed all the help and sympathy she could get. Wheatley, now that he knew that neither Mel nor Chell were any of these, was irritated that Mel would gaze with fondness upon any such supposed benefactor who looked down on her like that.

"Uh… question?" Virgil seemed puzzled. "You didn't say anything, did you, Mel?"

"She can't talk like that," Wheatley griped. "She talks with her fingers, like this." He waved his hands in the air, clumsily signing the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be, '_why can't you understand her you are an idiot'_. Mel put her hands on her hips with a chiding expression.

"Ah. I… I can't understand that," Virgil said.

_That's obvious_, Mel thought, but she turned to Wheatley and gestured for him to translate.

"Ahh…" Wheatley's eyes followed Mel's fingers as they weaved about. "She- she wants to know what you're doing down here. She says she would have thought you would have been in… the… um… oh! The maintenance district, area… thing. That is what you said, right?" he whispered aside to Mel. She nodded with a smile.

"Um… yeah, about that," Virgil admitted hesitantly. "I'm kind of… hiding."

"Hiding?" Wheatley blurted and Mel took a protective step forward. "Hiding from what?"

"Listen," Virgil said. "Things aren't the same down here in Aperture as they used to be. Once upon a time She used to be in charge of everything, doing Her tests and basically ignoring everybody else, but then something… changed. I'm not sure what, but one day GLaDOS just disappeared. Like instantly, out of nowhere, She was gone! Nobody's sure what happened, nobody knows what to do, and a bunch of the systems go flatlined right away, just like that! The system keeps switching between automatic and something else, like someone is trying to get ahold of the system, but it's not working out very well for them."

"Ah, yes." Wheatley rubbed the back of his neck. "That was probably us, upstairs. We… um…" He looked sheepishly at Virgil, who was staring at him with narrowed eye. "We sort of took down GLaDOS."

"Took down GLaDOS?!" Virgil echoed in a yelp. "I mean, yes, I understand why you would want to. Nobody really wanted Her to repeat that whole 'scientist killing spree' She went on right after She took over, but… but now everything makes so much sense! Then that means you must be with that human who escaped and took Her down, aren't you? The test subject… oh, what's her name?"

"Chell," Wheatley said proudly. "Yep, I'm with- I'm with Chell. That's me."

"Wait…" Virgil's eye was narrowed again. "That voice. I know your voice, don't I?"

A close observer would see Wheatley's eyes turn frantic. "No, I don't think so. Don't know why you would. Um… you still didn't explain why you're in hiding, did you? Mel really, really wants to know," he deferred, moving to stand behind Mel as if trying to shield himself.

"Well…" Virgil obviously wanted to pursue the subject, but he tucked his questions away for the moment. "Alright, so there's this message that goes out when the system is on automatic. I don't know what it is, but it goes out to all the artificial intelligence in Aperture. As soon as it is received, that core goes haywire. Starts babbling about going somewhere and will hurt itself doing it. Then these claws come out and grab it, haul it away…" He shuddered. "Those cores never come back. I managed to build something like a firewall against the message, but it only partially works. I stay in here most of the time because the plants cause such interference, and if I keep the lights down low it attracts less attention. I may be the only core left in Aperture, now."

"Wait, all the other cores?" Wheatley demanded, startled. "All of 'em gone, just like that?"

"I… I think so," said Virgil. "I've only seen a few of them go. The Rainbow Core forced a few others to follow when it—"

"Wait, wait, wait. There is no Rainbow Core," snorted Wheatley. "That's just a myth. A fairytale told to all the baby test subjects to get them to sleep. No such thing."

"No, it's not," Virgil rejoined. "The Rainbow Core's a real thing. Mel and I saw her in one of the disused testing tracks, didn't we, Mel?"

'Her?' Mel signed in confusion. 'Rainbow Robot is a boy.'

"No, see, that's the thing," Wheatley interjected, turning to Mel. "The thing about the Rainbow Core, if legends are to be believed, is that it was created as a sort of infatuation core. It literally stimulates you to be attracted to it."

"That's right," added Virgil. "Even though it may have the same words, the voice changes to sound like whoever you're attracted to. So, what you heard is not what I heard, and what I heard would probably not be what he would hear." He gestured towards Wheatley with his lower handle.

There was a moment of silence filled with thoughts. Mel tried to process this new information. It seemed to fit in with what she experienced. She remembered brushing aside clinging ivy to shoot into a dark sub-room next to one of the test chambers and climbing through to find herself fenced in on all sides. Strange, unsettling images were painted on the walls here, and there was nowhere else to go but back out again. Along a management rail on the back wall slid a core, painted a bright white and its optic all the colors of the rainbow.

"Why hello there, gorgeous," it had purred in a deep, slightly nasal voice. "Don't you look as beautiful as a… rainbow?"

With a laugh it slid out of sight. Mel had stumbled out of the room, her heart beating hard, feeling her cheeks flush. She hardly listened to Virgil's stammered words, but by the sound of it he was just as shocked as she was. And she was smitten.

Mel replayed the memory in her head once more and pushed it away. She tugged on Wheatley's sleeve and gestured for him to translate: "Is there anything we can do?"

Virgil huffed a laugh. "I don't think so. Not unless any of you can talk to the system, and I would try myself but – and I hate to say this – I think it's far more powerful than me."

"True," Wheatley agreed softly. "Th-that's true enough."

_Look how small you are down there. I can barely see you! Very tiny and insignificant._

"I do know you, don't I?"

Wheatley snapped away from the painful memory and saw Virgil's eye – narrowed to a slit again – looking right at him. "I… uh, I—" Wheatley stammered.

"Wheatley, right?" Virgil's lids narrowed – if possible – even more.

'Wheatley used to be a core in the facility,' Mel signed and Wheatley hastened to translate.

"Yeah, what she said! I used to be a core here! 'Bout four years ago, now. Watching over the humans in cryogenic suspension and all that."

"Blue eye?" Virgil appraised Wheatley, who felt more nervous by the second and was unsuccessfully trying not to show it. "Kind of silver-gray?"

"Y-yep. That was me. Yeah, so it was."

"Then," Virgil said slowly, "that means that you're the core who—"

"Went to space?" Wheatley interjected in a yelp. "Yes, yes, that was me! Horrible accident, that, really. Took ages getting back!"

He stepped slightly in front of Mel and tried to convey through a slight shake of the head and a nervous glance in Mel's direction not to say any more. Thankfully, Virgil took the hint.

"Ah… yes. That core. That event was very… well known around here. So, you're back. And… a human? How- how does that work out?"

Mel started signing. "Okay, she says that Blue Wheat…" and then he stared at her, confused. "Blue Wheat? What do you mean by 'Blue Wheat'?"

'My name for you when I'm signing,' Mel explained. She repeated the gesture again, holding her hand in the letter 'b' position and shaking it for 'blue', then signing 'wheat' and pointing at Wheatley.

Wheatley's mouth opened wide in realization. "Ohhhh, I get it! Very clever there. Well done. Okay, alright, starting from the beginning," he kept his eyes locked on Mel's hands as he translated, "I used to be a core here at Aperture (you know you can make up a name for that, too, if you want) but, um, before that I used to be a human. My brain was used to make a core to slow down GLaDOS – who was originally a human, too, if you didn't know," he added, as Mel motioned for him to speak for himself.

"Wait, GLaDOS used to be human?" exclaimed Virgil.

"Yes, Caroline. Her name was Caroline," rushed Wheatley, anxious to get on with the story. "So, anyway—"

"Wait, wait, hold up a second, I need to think about this for a minute." Virgil began to pace along his management rail, which squeaked at his passing. "You're trying to tell me that She used to be a human…"

"Yes."

"—Named Caroline—"

"Yes." Wheatley sounded a bit exasperated. This was all old news to him.

"—And Caroline's brain was used to make… Her?" Virgil concluded uneasily.

"Yeah, that's what I was saying. Keep up, why don't you? Anyway, so I was a human at the time, and they took me and replicated my brainy thingamabobbers to put into a core, so they made me! My name was Stephen Ley, back then, but then a bunch of really weird processes went on and I kind of forgot, but not really, so I thought my name was Wheatley. So, anyway, the whole 'core with human brain used to slow Her down' idea didn't really work out, so they tried to give me different jobs and all that. Skip several years later and I get rescued from space, Chell and I go back to Aperture, find Doug Rattmann, Doug Rattmann tells me that I was actually a human – I couldn't remember before, you see – and puts me back into my old body. An-and, just for the icing on the cake – but not an actual cake, you know, not a real cake – they took Her down and put Caroline's mind back inside her own body as well. So," he concluded with his arms spread out triumphantly, "everyone's back inside their old body and everything's good. Well, except for whatever's going on with Caroline right now…" he added quietly, but Virgil was too preoccupied to hear him.

"Human minds inside cores," Virgil muttered. "Not so unlikely that I can't believe it."

Mel stepped forward to gain Virgil's attention and began to sign. Her face was pinched with anxiety and she chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Mel says she came here…" Wheatley translated slowly, glancing at Mel as if gauging how good an idea this was, "…she came here to see if you were once a human, too," he finished in a rush.

"What?" exclaimed Virgil, his optic constricting. "Are you crazy? That's—"

"Mad? Impossible? I thought so, too! But, you know, here I am! Human once, human again, core in between. So…" Wheatley waggled his hands like deciding weights on a balanced scale.

"But… but it can't be," spluttered Virgil. "I'm Virgil! The maintenance core! Not some kind of tin-clad human brain! I'm… I'm more superior, I'm… I'm…"

"Have you ever felt like you were different from the other cores?" Wheatley pressed. "Like you think on a different level than they do? Their minds move in a single stream, only one thought per day, if that, and nothing can get them outside of their box. No processing skills, nothing out of streamlined logic, none of that. And then there's you, and you can do all of that at the same time, no less! Can't you? 'Course, I might be wrong about that. You could be just the maintenance core, that- that might be all you are… but… um… n-now that I can see you…"

Wheatley glanced around at Mel, who was staring intently at Virgil, hands pressed together as if pleading. He looked back at Virgil, who was grasping for an argument.

"I…" Virgil stammered, more lost for words than Mel had ever seen him. "I-I-I need to think about it. I'm going to go for a roll. Please, make yourselves at home," he added hastily, already skidding toward the door. "Boil some potatoes, get some rest. I'll… I'll be back soon."

"Wait," Wheatley called, running to catch up with him and motioning for Mel to stay back. In the shadow of the open doorway, Wheatley skidded to a stop and hissed to Virgil, dangling above him, "You can't tell Mel."

"Tell Mel what?" Virgil asked, his tone anxious and jumpy.

"About me, about… what I did." Wheatley bit his lip. "You can't- you can't tell her about any of that, okay?"

"I dunno," Virgil answered in a low voice, peering back at Mel, who was looking around the room. "She's pretty clever. Even if I don't tell her…"

"I'm going to tell her eventually," Wheatley blurted. "I swear, I just… I need time to figure out how."

Virgil appraised Wheatley in a similar fashion to how Wheatley had appraised Jack when they had first met. "Fine," he said at last. "I won't tell her. But know this," and here he lowered himself a little closer to Wheatley's level and dropped his tone, "your actions are rather infamous around here, Wheatley. Everything you did – taking over the facility, almost destroying it – your entire mess was left for us here to clean up. I like to think of myself as a forgiving sort of core, but," and here all Wheatley could see of Virgil's optic was a thin orange slit, "if you hurt my olympian, even without meaning to, you'll have me to deal with. You get it?"

Wheatley gulped. Even though Virgil was only a little larger than the diameter of his head and had no arms or legs, this threat intimidated him. "Y-yes," he stammered. "Okay, alright. Absolutely. There is to be no harming of the Mel, I promise. Not like I ever would, anyway," he muttered to himself.

"Good," nodded Virgil. He withdrew and resumed his preoccupied expression. "Stay put," he told Wheatley. "I'll be back in a little while."

And then, with a screech of metal on metal, he was gone.

**()-()**

**Mel leaned against the push-door, which swung slowly open. **_**So**_**, she thought, **_**it wasn't a figure of speech after all. Virgil is, quite literally, in the junkyard.**_

**The place was a mass of discarded junk which had fallen from the higher levels – layers of rubble, ancient testing equipment, and bizarre wire-y messes that she could not put a name to, all scattered around in heaps, or alone by themselves in corners, forgotten by the world. Chain-link fences did their best to separate areas from each other, but some of them had fallen over, rendering them useless. Hydraulic arms outside nearby testing chambers gleamed coldly from above, and some of the junk was on fire. A nearby lightbulb sputtered fitfully. These things provided the only light.**

"**Ah, great, you're here!" Virgil's voice cried, echoing through the vast expanse. He seemed close to frantic, almost whimpering with anticipation. "I can finally get out of this technological nightmare! If you can get into the offices, I'm saved!"**

**Mel craned her neck upward, trying to see past the overlying smog that clouded everything. The smell of smoke tickled her nose and she heard in the background a soft, metallic gasping sound. Where was that coming from?**

"**You might just have to get around a few security defenses, though," continued Virgil. "Trying to keep the giant human-eating rats out."**

_**What now?**_** Mel stopped scanning for a ceiling and turned her attention quickly to the surface around her. Giant human-eating rats!? A yellow sign on one of the still-standing chain-link fences assured her that – although they may not have been human-eating – the scientists had been aware of the existence of giant rats in the area and had accordingly posted warning signs.**

_**Helpful**_**, Mel thought bitterly. **_**Very helpful.**_

**Making her way past the fences and up to the chamber-lock was harder than it first appeared, but she managed it after some trial and error. The door swiveled open, the little light on it turning from orange to green as it did, and she entered, passing through another of the blue particle fields that seemed to enclose every entrance and exit in Aperture. She seemed to be in another office building, one with tubes of Propulsion and Repulsion Gel running through it. Mel could hear the hum of motors and the glooping sound of the moving gel. She lowered her portal gun. Had she missed Virgil somewhere in the junkyard? Was he still out there somewhere?**

**And then she heard it. The shout coming from over to her left, "Hey, the floor's getting quite cold here!"**

**It was Virgil's voice, but not faint or crackling through a speaker. No. This time it was clear and loud and very much in person. Mel hurried toward it, excitement wiggling in the pit of her stomach. She followed the dimly-lit corridor into an open room, an elevator taking up a good portion of the space.**

"**Hey! He-ey! Over here! I'm right over here!" Virgil's voice was cracking with expectation and anxiety. In the dim light, Mel could barely make out a spherical shape in the pile of rubble, which seemed to be speaking with Virgil's voice. She tentatively approached it.**

"**Heyyyy, Mel!" the sphere exclaimed, nodding with a friendly gesture as she looked down at it. "Nice to finally see you."**

**No doubt about it. This thing was Virgil.**

**Mel, who had come from the year nineteen fifty-two, was rather shocked by the appearance her friend had taken. Legless, armless, and a bit bigger than a basketball, a glowing orange and yellow optic shaped like the Aperture symbol taking up most of its form. A few livid gray scrapes streaked vertically and diagonally across his optic. It was dark, so Mel could not make out what color he – or it – was, and could only barely make out the shadowy forms of what appeared to be handles attached to his top and bottom. So, this was a core.**

"**It's kind of dark here, though," Virgil answered conversationally, peering around her. His body made little rasping clicks and whirrs as its inner mechanisms moved. "You should turn the power on so we can get the lights working. There's more offices on the other side of the double doors. Check there. Turn the power on first, then pick me up."**

**Mel let a half-disbelieving grin play across her face. She moved forward as if to verify that he was real, but he leaned away from her. "I know it's been awhile since you've had some company," he said with a chuckle, "but, uh, just leave me for… two minutes? I promise I won't go anywhere."**

**Mel reached forward, but Virgil's handle rapped her on the hand. "I literally can't go anywhere! Please… just go turn the power on!"**

**Mel withdrew, shrugging. If he wanted the power on first, so be it.**

**With the help of her portals, she made it through the double doors, which were blocked halfway open with some boxes which looked too heavy for her to push or carry. The next room had a few steps down to a lower level which had apparently aspired to become a swimming pool because it was knee-deep in stagnant dark water. Mel waded through, wincing at the cold temperature, and pulled the lever inside the room on the other side.**

"**Lights, check," Virgil listed. "Camera, check. Action… hopefully not."**

**Then the voice that Mel feared cut in over the intercom. "Detecting power surge in sub-basement station twenty-six," it stated in a deep, cold voice. "Threat level: moderate. Activating security protocols."**

**Mel felt dread creep through every nerve. The voice was back. Whatever it was, they had lost it back in the last testing sphere after a mad dash, but now it was back. It knew where they were – it was hounding them out!**

"**Now you can pick me up," Virgil told her, sounding unperturbed.**

**Mel, still feeling anxious, made her way back through to Virgil, which was made harder by the fact that turning the power on had electrocuted the water-swamped room and she needed to hop from desk to desk to avoid being zapped. Once she stood over Virgil again, she cautiously used the pull-beam on her portal gun to lift him gently off the floor.**

"**Whew!" Virgil exclaimed, giving a little roll. "Good! That floor was getting **_**very**_** cold! My motherboard was almost going critical."**

**Mel grinned. She doubted that the floor getting colder was the highest of Virgil's worries for the moment, but she was glad to see that he had retained some optimism.**

"**Alright, I know what you're thinking," Virgil said. He mimicked what he must think her voice sounded like. "'Hey, Mister Virgil Core Guy, how were you able to control everything and see everything in the old testing facility?' Well, one simple answer: Wi-Fi. I am fully Wi-Fi capable!"**

**Mel had no idea what Wi-Fi was, so this so-called 'simple' answer left her as much in the dark as before.**

"**Anyway," Virgil continued, "take me over to the elevator control room. There's a management rail I can use there to get back to the enrichment center. Oh, and I… em… I can also get an elevator for you."**

**It took a few wrong turns to get to the right room, and Mel must have driven Virgil crazy examining everything – from the posters on the walls to the pictures of the scientists on the desks – but eventually they made their way to the elevator control room. Part of the wall there was broken down and Mel could see a sort of rail snaking its way into the enrichment center. With a doubtful look at Virgil, she held him up to a socket hanging from the rail. He snapped into place, rolling his eye in pleasure.**

"**Ah, much better!" he exclaimed. "Good to be back on track again. Let me go back here and, uh, get your elevator so we can get out of here. Yes!" And with that he slid out of sight.**

**Mel felt a momentary flicker of doubt. Why had he stalled before offering to get her an elevator? Was she wrong to place her trust in him? Had she made a mistake?**

**She didn't have long to wait. "This should help," Virgil's voice came back over the intercom right before the lights went out. "Th-that wasn't me," Virgil added, sounding anxious again. "…I think."**

"**Detecting security override in sub-basement twenty-six," the deep voice murmured gratingly. "Generator override command initiated."**

"**Eh… override generator, override command," directed Virgil to an unknown source. The lights flashed back on again, temporarily blinding Mel.**

"**Error, error," the voice rasped. "Scanning for life forms." A sound like an electric hum met Mel's ears for a second or two before it went away. "Unregistered life forms detected in facility. Commencing termination program. Three targets acquired: one organic, two mechanical."**

"**Well, at least I can get you out of here, now," Virgil exclaimed, desperately clinging to a fraying thread of optimism. "We'll worry about that voice on the intercom later. I'll meet you upstairs."**

**The voice talked again, saying something about more flooding, but Mel was already moving toward the elevator. She was in almost as soon as the doors opened, flattening herself against the back. That voice gave her the chills. At least Virgil was safe, now. Now it was time for her to rely fully on him.**

**Now was the time for trust.**

**The elevator moved upwards.**


	8. Chapter 8: The Radio

**Chapter Eight**

**The Radio**

**This testing track was different from any of the others Mel had encountered. For one, it was cleaner and seemed less abandoned. Virgil had referred to it as his testing track. He had built it himself, put the pieces together, and maintained it.**

"**It's not the best-looking thing in the world, but it'll do," Virgil had said proudly as Mel stepped out of the elevator.**

_**Do for what?**_** Mel wondered, heading up the stairs to the swiveling chamber door.**

"**Let's see if I can just get this door open and get us out of here."**

**Now Mel was looking around in wonder at the track, examining the shining white panels, the shimmering fizzler, and a strange metal contraption on the wall to the right.**

"**Okay, sorry, I can't help you with this testing track," Virgil apologized over the intercom. "All Aperture Science AIs have been programmed to not help with solving the tests. I can, however, test to see if everything still works. It's… been awhile since I fell off that management rail and plummeted down into that pit, so… maybe some stuff broke in my absence?"**

**Mel pushed down her foot on a nearby button. Well, at least that still worked. Things would be a lot more difficult to solve if some of the testing elements were broken.**

"**Checking the funnel…"**

**Mel gaped up at the round metallic thing on the wall as it began to spin, emitting a strange, swirling blue light that stretched to the opposite end of the room.**

"**Working," Virgil declared. "Fizzler?" The emancipation grid flickered off and back on again. "Changing over. Aaaand toxic goo drainage pipe." There was a pause. "Eaten away by toxic corrosive goo. Oh, lovely."**

**Mel was thinking the same thing. The rippling bile that separated half the room looked seriously unappealing and she vowed to stay as far away from it as possible.**

"**Ahm… that's not important," Virgil waved it aside. "You can do this test just fine. I- I hope."**

**Mel stepped forward to solve the test, but just caught Virgil's final disbelieving mutter to himself, "She couldn't even open a locked door!"**

**Mel glared up at the ceiling and resolved to finish this test as quickly and efficiently as possible. It wasn't her fault the door wouldn't open!**

**The blue funnel thing introduced an interesting new mechanic. Apparently, anything caught in its beam would float as far as the beam reached. If it caught on a wall, it would come gently to rest. If the beam failed, the thing would fall. Mel floated in it for a little while just as an experiment and found it soothing and relaxing.**

**She needed some soothing and relaxing. This test chamber was the most difficult to date, and Mel wondered several times if some vital mechanic was actually broken. Every time she did, however, it forced her to think in a new angle, which would open up an alternative pathway, and thus she did progress.**

**When she had finally gotten both boxes over to their alternative buttons on the near side of the emancipation grid, a set of stairs flipped up, apparently to help her jump into the funnel and drift to the door, but before she did this Mel paused. She raised her portal gun and shot at the white surface beneath the stairs and, to her surprise, a portal stuck.**

**Had she found a different way out? Mel wondered in growing excitement. She pushed it down. That's what she had thought back at the fake door above the testing track and been scolded by Virgil. Calmly, she stepped through the portal.**

**She found herself in a forgotten chamber behind the hydraulic arms, the back wall almost squishing her against them, but admitting just enough room for her to squeeze through. She crouched beneath the arms and began to wriggle through the open passageway.**

"**M-Mel?" Virgil stammered. "Where do you think you're going? Be careful!"**

**Could he not see her anymore? Mel's heart beat harder, but she still progressed.**

"**I heard rumors of about some creepy guy living in the service areas," Virgil warned, but Mel paid no attention. She heard music.**

**Finally the passageway curved around into a little room and she was able to stand up. The air was stale and close, smelling of rusted metal. Enormous water bottles and cans of beans stood open and empty on the floor. A radio emitted perky rock music from its perch on a dissociated Aperture servo. Mel hardly noticed any of this, though. What her eyes were drawn to were the walls.**

**They were scribbled over, written on, and used like pieces of parchment. Disturbing pictures were displayed blatantly. On the far wall was an image of what looked rather like an enormous robotic spider, many hatches like eyes dotting its 'head'. 'Conviction', the caption displayed in orange above it. A number of ones and zeros were shown in speech bubbles around the thing. Mel shuddered and turned to the other picture and felt her blood turn cold.**

**It was her portal gun, depicted in yellow smears on the wall, several pairs of grasping hands reaching out toward it, but the stern letters above and around it spelled, 'Don't Take The Bait!' and then below in a single block of text: 'It's not for me.'**

**Mel felt disturbed and turned back to the spider picture. Now that she was really looking, she could see a diminutive figure holding a yellow portal gun below the 'spider', running to the right. It was practically a stickman and there was no way to tell what gender the person was supposed to be, but now Mel was genuinely freaked out. She crouched again and made her way back through the tunnel, trying to calm her beating heart before it gave her cardiac arrest.**

"**Find anything interesting back there?" Virgil questioned as she emerged.**

**Mel didn't trust herself to make a gesture. She bit the inside of her lip and continued the test, but her mind was racing. Did someone know about her portal gun? Had they left it for her?**

**She didn't know. She didn't know anything. All she knew was testing. So she solved the test.**

**()-()**

"Over here," Jack called, waving his arm and flashing his ping tool to get Chell's and the Robots' attention. As they worked their way over the shifting junk piles, he stood back and examined the ledge he had found, craning his neck to try and see the top. There seemed to be something white standing near the edge, but he couldn't quite see what it was.

A dinged white panel stood nearby and Jack shot one portal and it and another above the ledge. He peered back, but Chell was still pretty far away. It wouldn't hurt to scope out their path, would it? He jumped through.

Even though Jack had been hopping through portals for the last few hours, the shift of reality from wall to ceiling was still disorienting and Jack didn't see the turret before he was almost on top of it.

"Hello?"

Jack shouted and fell backwards, his portal gun clattering out of reach. He and Chell had encountered some turrets a few test chambers back, and although they had both escaped unscathed, Jack had no desire to find out what bullets felt like. Moving as quickly as he was able, he ducked through a sputtering emancipation grid that led to a darkened corridor, hiding behind the corner of the wall. It took him a second to realize that the turret – although having ample opportunity to shoot him – had not done so.

"I'm different," it piped, its red gaze beam sporadically flickering.

"Different, huh?" Jack asked out loud, peering out from behind the corner and getting ready to dodge back if necessary. "Different enough not to shoot me?"

The turret didn't answer and Jack tentatively walked out into the range of its sight beam. Its sight never faltered from its fixed point. If Jack could guess, he would say that this turret was blind. He turned away and looked out over the incinerator's expanse. Chell was nearer, now, and he called down to her.

"Chell? This ledge has a passage out of it, but I don't know where it leads. Looks like it's the only other way out of here. There's also a turret up here, but it says it's 'different'. I don't know what it means by that, but I think it's safe."

Chell's eyes widened with this declaration and her mouth moved almost imperceptibly, mouthing the word, 'different?' She began to fight her way forward harder than ever, mind whirring. Could it be true? Could it be the same turret she saved from the Redemption Line four years ago? She poured over its words again: "Get mad!" "Don't make lemonade." "It won't be enough." "The answer is beneath us."

And then the two most disconcerting: "Prometheus was punished by the gods for giving the gift of knowledge to man. He was cast into the bowels of the earth and pecked by birds," and "Her name is Caroline. Remember that."

Chell felt the familiar chill sweep across her as she remembered those foretelling words. 'Get mad' and 'don't make lemonade' were both said by Cave Johnson in his madness before condemning his assistant Caroline to a fate worse than death – being trapped inside a metal body and forced to test and regulate the facility for eternity. 'The answer is beneath us' spoke of the vitrified test shafts that held the answer to GLaDOS' beginnings. 'It won't be enough' Chell thought of with a wince, because Wheatley said something similar when the Itch's reward petered out and he began devising harder and more intricate tests to gain that pleasure.

The 'Prometheus' line was harder to decipher, but Chell thought it had something to do with GLaDOS being displaced by Wheatley and being thrown into the depths of Aperture, where she was partially eaten by a crow. She had even noticed that test shaft 09 was called 'Tartarus'. Eerie.

And then 'her name is Caroline'. Only chilling because the turret could not possibly have known. How could it? How could it have known any of these things?

Chell did not know. She had given up pondering most of Aperture's inner workings, but this turret's weird quirk did not seem to be devised by any Aperture scientist. If Chell was more superstitious, she might have called it paranormal.

In a moment she was up beside Jack, kneeling beside the turret, examining it for damage. Its back leg seemed a little more twisted than she remembered and there was a definite ding on its left gun flap.

Chell gestured at the turret, a questioning look in her eyes. "I don't know," Jack answered, shrugging. "It was here when I came. It and that… hoop thing."

A metal hoop stood next to the turret, leaned up against the wall. Chell squinted at it. The ledge was beneath an overhang. Unless the hoop was bouncier than it looked, there was no way it could have landed here.

"Wheatley brought us here."

Chell, Jack and the two robots – who had joined them on the ledge – all started at the turret's unexpected words. Atlas and P-Body chittered anxiously to one another and the two humans stared. Chell was wondering that the turret had spoken so lucidly, whereas Jack was surprised the turret had spoken at all.

"He- he did?" Jack stammered. He clutched Chell by the shoulder. "That's good news, Chell! It means that he's still alive, somewhere! Wait, how did he get up here without a portal gun?" he added, looking down over the edge. "It's too high to climb, especially carrying one of these things."

"It won't be enough," the turret stated.

Jack's brow creased. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Chell bit her lip. She had heard that prophecy before. What could it mean? She stood up and gestured toward the exit. Jack nodded in agreement with her. "Yeah, we should get going. What should we do about the—"

"I need to protect the human!"

This sentence came out in a shrill, echoing screech that rang through the incinerator, freezing the foursome in their places. The turret's words had always been said quietly, before, but this time it came out as a shout. A plea.

A warning.

Even after the last echoes of the turret's cry had died away, the four of them still stared at the turret, wondering what this could mean. Chell, the only one who knew of the turret's prophetic abilities, was even more chilled than the others. Her mind ran like water over many possibilities. Could it be Caroline trying to protect the human part of herself from GLaDOS? Or could it be the original programming of the turret itself coming to light? Did it have something to do with Wheatley, or nothing at all?

She couldn't know. She could never know for sure until the event itself came to pass. Prophecies were like that; from the past you could not tell, but in hindsight it was clear as glass and you wondered how you could possibly have missed it, before.

"Take me with you," the turret requested, its voice quiet yet again.

Atlas uneasily moved forward to pick up the turret. P-Body grasped the hoop and made ready to carry it off, also. They both twisted to look at Chell, waiting for instructions.

Chell, shaking off the cold, turned to the flickering emancipation grid. She knew the turret would probably disintegrate if she tried to take it through, but it was sputtering enough that she might get a shot through. It took a couple tries, but she was able to get a portal across to the other side and one on her side. She motioned the robots through, and then Jack.

He grasped her arm with a smile. "We're getting closer to him," Jack whispered. "Don't you worry, Chell. We'll find him, soon."

Chell could not return his smile. Her gut still twisted and those haunting words still rang in her ears. "I need to protect the human."

Not 'humans'.

Human.

**()-()**

Wheatley exhaled a deep breath and went back to join Mel. She looked at him questioningly and signed, 'What were you talking to Virgil about?'

"Oh, that?" Wheatley tried to appear nonchalant, which generally involved a lot more shrugging and hand-waving than usual. "Not much, not anything at all, really. Nothing that you need to concern yourself about. Um… ooh! Here's an idea: how about we get some supper on? Plenty of potatoes around, I'm sure this place can spare some of them. Do- do you know how to eat potatoes raw?"

Mel made a face, her tongue sticking out between her teeth, nose wrinkled in an expression of distaste. 'Not raw. Cook,' she signed.

"Um… okay. Okay, I know raw potatoes aren't technically the best," Wheatley soothed, "but we don't really have much choice here, do we? I mean, it's not like we have an oven, or- or a stove or anything."

Mel sighed through her nose. 'You gather potatoes,' she ordered. 'I'll do the rest.'

Wheatley uneasily did as he was told, digging through the dust and dirt for the mystical brown tubers that infested this place. All the same, he kept an ear out for Mel. She seemed to be rustling around in the greenery to the side. He could hear the snapping of sticks and the crunch of rotting wood.

All of a sudden, Wheatley heard a sizzle, then smelled smoke. "M-Mel?" he shouted, coming around the bend to see what was going on. "Mel, what are you—"

Then he stopped in surprise, dropping a couple potatoes in the process. "A fire?" he asked. "How on earth did you start a fire? You didn't bring any matches, did you? In your pockets or something?"

Mel only smiled and held up the sparking end of a wire that trailed from the wall. 'I tore a page out of my notebook for tinder,' she signed proudly. 'Sparks came from the wire, light paper, light wood.'

"Wow," gawped Wheatley. He stumbled forward and lay the potatoes as an offering at her feet. "Okay, so we've got a fire going. That's brilliant. Now what do we do? Do we sort of… roll them in and hope they don't get burned?"

Mel shook her head and signed 'no' with a snap of her fingers. 'There's water over there,' she pointed. 'We can boil them.'

"Okay, good idea – points for that – but don't you need to hold the water in something to do that? Like a pot or something?"

Mel looked at him with an expression both apologetic and rebellious, holding up a lumpy gray half-sphere she had already washed out.

Wheatley gave a startled yelp. "Oi! No, no you can't- you can't use that!" He snatched the remains of what had once been a core's shell clumsily out of her hands. "That's dishonoring the dead, that is! I mean, how would you like it if somebody took your dead body to make soup out of, eh? I don't think you'd like it one bit! So why don't you think of this poor chap first before you use his corpse to boil potatoes? Disrespectful, that's what it is." He fondled the core's unused shell.

Mel's expression turned stern. Her lips pinched and her eyes squinted. 'Give me that,' she signed, 'or no potatoes.'

"I can eat potatoes raw," Wheatley wined, still trying to hide the shell from her.

'You eat potatoes raw, you get worms. You want to eat worms?' Mel demanded.

Wheatley wavered indecisively, and while his fingers were loose, Mel snatched back her 'pot'. Wheatley moaned as she filled it with water and dumped it unceremoniously on the fire. He eased up a little bit when the water started boiling, and then didn't mention it at all when the potatoes were added. By the time the potatoes were cooked and ready to eat, Wheatley couldn't care less that they were using the cadaver of a core to cook in. He was too hungry to care.

The potatoes would have been better with salt and butter, Wheatley was obliged to point out, but as they had no butter and salt (as Mel remarked back) they had to do as-is. Their hunger was the best seasoning, and by the time the potatoes were done, both could say that it was a most satisfactory meal and Wheatley joked about doing it again, soon.

Wheatley was just prodding the fire with a stick when Mel suddenly grabbed his arm. She crouched beside him, her brows were tightened as if she was listening intently.

"What's going on? What's wrong?" Wheatley asked. Mel jostled him to make him stop talking. "Is it something bad?" Wheatley hissed a little more quietly. "Should I get the portal gun? Ohh, I knew I shouldn't have left it so far away. Okay, so here's the plan, I'll start crawling over toward it and you distract—"

Mel smooshed her finger over his lips, forcing his prattle to a halt. She closed her eyes, then seemed to get a bearing on the noise's position because she stood upright and tiptoed over to the wall. One of the panels stood out somewhat, separated from the rest. There wasn't enough room for a person, but… was that a portal conducting surface behind it? Mel motioned for the portal gun.

"Is something wrong?" Wheatley asked. Mel waved at him to be quiet again and shot behind the protruding panel. A blue portal stuck and she connected it with an orange one, stepping through into the hidden room.

Wheatley, following just a step behind, clapped a hand to his forehead. "Ohh!" he exclaimed, turning around in a circle. "Mel, hey, listen – this is one of the places that Doug Rattmann stayed in! See?" He pointed to one of the walls. "He drew these!"

'Your friend drew these?' Mel asked, looking relieved that the mystery of the scrawls had been solved.

"Well, he had a bunch of time on his hands. You can find these places literally all around Aperture if your eyes are good enough."

This place was more cluttered than the other dens Wheatley had visited. Not only were there enormous water casks, but broken pieces of computers that it seemed Doug had been tinkering with, trying to make work. The walls bore enough mathematical equations to stock a classroom, scribbled around and over each other, colliding and mixing and sometimes being crossed out by thick, angry black lines. Wheatley accidentally kicked part of an optic across the floor and shivered, thinking how Doug Rattmann might have spied on him from behind this very panel.

"Lots of time on his hands," he murmured.

Mel plopped the portal gun into his hands and began to dig through a pile of scrap parts, sifting them to the sides.

"Okay, getting really curious now," said Wheatley, stumbling over to peer over her shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

Mel turned around and held a hand up to her ear, signaling for him to listen. He did and over the clamor of her digging heard a snatch of a tune, a melody coming from the rubbish.

"What is that?" he whispered.

Mel shrugged and continued to excavate. The music grew louder as she went deeper into the pile, the crackle of static ebbing a bit and letting them hear a sweet, somber tune played with a piano.

Mel gave another eager swipe with her hands and reached down one final time. With a tug, she unearthed an old white radio. She turned around and showed it to Wheatley, a look of triumph and pleasure on her face.

"Well, there it is, then," remarked Wheatley, grinning at the look on her face.

Mel turned the radio to face her and began to sway to its slow waltz, closing her eyes and breathing in the music. The piano continued to play, but over it a man's voice began to sing:

**Exile… it takes your mind… again…**

**Exile… it takes your mind… again…**

As Wheatley stared at Mel, hugging the radio to her cheek and rocking back and forth on her knees, his heart was filled with such pain as he had never felt before – an ache not altogether unpleasant – and he was again aware just how beautiful she was.

Oh, there it went – his mouth was dry again. Brilliant.

**You got sucker's luck**

**Have you given up?**

As violin added to the strain, Wheatley became aware of another emotion. One he could only describe as… jealousy? Yes. Jealousy. He was utterly, insanely jealous of that little radio that caused Mel such pleasure. Shouldn't he – a walking, thinking human being – be able to make Mel as happy as that?

His mind began to race. What could he do for her? What did he know how to do that would trump this?

**Does it feel like a trial?**

**Does it trouble your mind**

**The way you trouble mine?**

It took a lot of bravery to put his hand on Mel's shoulder and snap her from her reverie, but once his hand was out it could not be stopped. Mel started, her daydream shattered but some of it still lingering behind her eyes.

"Hey," whispered Wheatley, voice somewhat raspy simply because his mouth was so dry. "I… I wanted to show you something. You know, if you wanted to. Only if you wanted to. Bring- bring the radio, if you want."

Mel grinned and allowed Wheatley to help her to her feet. Together they made their way to the portal and Wheatley led her through the core hub and out one of the many doors.

**Exile… it takes your mind… again…**

**Exile… it takes your mind… again…**

Her hand felt so smooth in his. So soft. Why was his heart beating so hard? Why did humans even have hearts if their only purpose was to thump like this? Annoying things, hearts.

**For you meant so much**

**Have you given up?**

**Does it feel like a trial?**

The hallway they traveled down opened up suddenly, the ending ripped off and cast into the dark maw of Aperture. The ground near the edge was cracked and crumbling, the tiles precarious. The management rail there cut off suddenly, warped and useless. Out beyond, Aperture stretched in all its glory. Testing chambers hung like massive black holes covered in clusters of blue stars. But above, natural light streamed down. Here and there actual stars gleamed and if he stood the right way Wheatley could just barely see a sliver of the moon.

"I used to come here back when I was a core," he told Mel as her hand covered her mouth, eyes widening in wonder. "It's prettier at nighttime, I think. Sometimes if you listen really, really closely… you can hear the turrets sing."

**Does it trouble your mind**

**The way you trouble mine?**

**Does it feel like a trial?**

**Ah, you're thinking too fast**

**You're like marbles on glass**

Wheatley watched her face anxiously, checking to see if she was pleased or if he should just go ahead and plunge over the precipice now and save her the trouble. As the music shifted to a deeper, richer sway, Mel put down the radio beside her on a nearby lump of rock. Her hands she clenched to her breast, breathing in deeply through her nose. A gust of air – the first real breeze she had felt since entering Aperture – brushed her hair gently from her forehead. She looked wonderous, enraptured as she swayed to the music and gazed over the shining expanse.

Wheatley felt a flicker of pride. Had he done something right this time? Really? Truly?

**Vilify…**

**Don't even try…**

**Vilify… **

**Don't even try…**

Mel turned to look at him and he felt his stomach start to burn. She held out her hands, signing, 'Dance with me.'

"Wh- no!" Wheatley shouted in a stronger tone than he intended. He could hear the echoes ring and he cringed. "I mean, no. Thank you, but… but no. I don't… I'm actually not sure- not sure I actually can dance, actually. So…"

Mel, her head quirked to the side and a small, devious smile on her face, stepped forward and placed his hand on her waist, her arm laying on top of his. His other hand she took in her own.

He stumbled for a while, his only thought being not to step on her feet.

**You got sucker's luck**

**Have you given up?**

Mel gave a small chuckle through his nose at his clumsiness and stepped back for a moment, holding up a finger to signal 'wait', and then counting along with the music. 'One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.' A waltz. Three beats. She moved her feet in semblance to the way they were supposed to go.

"Oh," exclaimed Wheatley. "Oh, okay! I get'cha. Okay. Alright."

Mel put herself in the leading position this time.

**Does it feel like a trial?**

**Does it trouble your mind **

**The way you trouble mine?**

**Does it feel like a trial?**

**Did you fall for the same emptinesses again?**

Wheatley tried to follow her, looking down at her feet. After some time, he thought he had got the hang of this dancing thing. 'Course it wasn't really proper dancing – mostly shuffling back and forth to the music – and Mel was much better at this type of thing than he was, but he couldn't say that he wasn't having a whale of a time. The music spun a mystical web about them, echoing out to ten times its normal strength with the vastness about them.

**Vilify…**

Wheatley, more confident in his abilities now, looked down at Mel's face. She grinned up at him, a spark of light in each eye and moonlight shining off her blazing hair. He smiled back, a quirky, endearing grin that made her own even larger.

**Don't even try…**

She loved this music, Wheatley realized. She even liked the place he had shown her. She liked it all.

Maybe she even liked him…

Then, as it was apt to do, his mind connected two completely unrelated subjects out of the blue that he had not even been thinking of in the beginning.

**Vilify…**

"Oh! Mel!" he exclaimed, completely losing grasp of the rhythm and stumbling over his own feet. He disentangled himself from Mel – mostly, they were still holding hands – and looked at her in wonder. "Your name is Mel!"

'My name is Mel,' she agreed wryly.

"No, not that – I mean, yes, that – but… Melody! Mel is short for Melody, isn't it?"

**Don't even try…**

Mel's breath grew short and she broke apart from Wheatley, turning away. Her vision had grown blurry and her head felt hot. Her own breathing sounded loud in her ears, but not as loud as the newest memories that had just been unlocked. The sound of crowds screaming that name – the name he had just said, but somehow insufficiently. It should be longer.

It was…

**Vilify…**

"Mel?" she heard Wheatley ask, sounding frightened and abashed. "Mel, I… I'm sorry, I…"

Mel slowly took out her notebook and pen, taking a long time to write, adding as many flourishes as she could possibly want. When she was done, she handed the notebook to Wheatley

**Don't even try…**

'I remember now,' she signed shakily, tears flooding her eyes. 'My true name. I remember!'

No sooner had these words left her fingers than she flew at Wheatley, burying her face in his shirt, dewing it with tears.

Wheatley, who was almost knocked backwards and off the edge by this unexpected attack, managed to right himself in time and read the notebook over Mel's buried head.

_My name is Melody Lance_, it said.

**Vilify…**

"Are… are you okay?" he asked, still startled. "Are- are these sad tears or… or more the happy kind?"

Mel's only answer was a squeeze and Wheatley understood that this time, if none other, was the time to simply be quiet and hold her. So he did.

The final note of the song sounded, low and thrumming, and the radio succumbed to static.


	9. Chapter 9: The Reclamation

**Chapter Nine**

**The Reclamation**

Chell rubbed her eyes and shot another portal – a bright streak of orange in her blurry eyes. P-Body trotted through it as she leaned wearily against a panel, shoving off it quickly as soon as she realized what she was doing. Too late, however. Jack had seen her momentary weakness. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gestured to a raised panel. "I found another of your friend's hidden dens. We can rest there for a few hours."

Chell brushed him off, determined to solve the test, but Jack's grip came back, more firmly this time. The look in his eyes as she turned fiercely to face him was part apologetic, part stubbornness. She only got to examine it a minute because the moment after their eyes touched he looked up at the two robots who were still busily solving the test. "Atlas, P-Body," he called. "Chell and I are going to rest for a few hours behind that opening. While we sleep, I need you to guard the panel – silently – and to rouse us if anything goes wrong. Or if…" Jack made a brief estimation "…five hours have passed." He ignored Chell's horrified expression at what an extravagant allotment of time this was and continued, "During that time you must not move from your posts, make any noise, or come inside the opening. These can be bypassed only if there is any threat. Do you understand?"

Robots were not uncommon in the year 5422, and although Jack had not come upon them much in his time on Mars, he knew enough to be very cautious when phrasing commands. Rule one: be specific, the more specific the better. Even though Atlas and P-Body seemed more independent in operations than the typical AI, Jack knew that this was an even better reason to be as detailed as possible when giving orders.

At his question, both robots gave affirmative sounds and rushed over to stand attention at the panel's opening. Still holding onto Chell's elbow as if she might make a break back toward the testing track, Jack entered.

"Bit darker in here," Jack remarked, surveying their surroundings. As far as Rattmann's dens came, this one was a bit cleaner. There were also less tally marks on the walls, so he must not have stayed there for too long a time. "And there are some plants around so the floor shouldn't be too hard."

He sat down in the farthest corner, sighing as his muscles relaxed for the first time in hours. Chell stood outlined by the scant light by the door, her arms crossed. Jack sighed. He couldn't see her expression, but he assumed by her closed position that she was annoyed by his decision. Even if her body was crying out for rest, she would never voluntarily let it. She was too stubborn for that.

"We're stopping," he said, finality in his voice. He gestured beside him. "Lay down."

She still didn't budge. Jack leaned around her and raised his voice. "Atlas, P-Body," he called. "Disactivate your hearing for twenty minutes."

There were some garbled noises of surprise, and then compliance. "Come in here," Jack commanded, but nothing happened. Satisfied, he sat upright and scrutinized Chell. "Alright," he said. "Tell me what's wrong."

Chell glanced back out in the direction of the robots, clearly not trusting their deafness, but she moved a little farther in and spoke with a lowered tone. "We should keep going," she murmured, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Wheatley could be in any one of these test chambers."

Jack sighed. "Chell…"

Chell's eyes hardened instantly. If he even started to suggest that she think of herself not Wheatley for once, she would go as deaf as those robots out there.

"I know you're concerned for Wheatley," Jack stated carefully, walking on eggshells, "but think about it this way: if Wheatley got tired, what would he do? He would rest. Probably for longer and starting sooner than we did. So even if he's still in one of these test chambers, we have plenty of time to find him."

"We don't even know if we're going the right way," Chell said wearily. She slid down to a sitting position against the wall, hands limply holding the portal gun, suddenly looking just as tired as she felt. Jack became acutely aware of the dark circles under her eyes.

They had been scanning the area for hours. The level that led out of the incinerator had an elevator that Chell believed went directly to the top layer, and that was where they stashed the 'different' turret and the hoop, to which P-Body still obstinately clung. The two humans and the robots went up and down each stretch of tests, constantly searching for signs of Wheatley, and then coming back to the elevator as a central base, but so far they had seen no signs of anybody's passing.

"We can't help Wheatley if we're dead tired," Jack stated flatly, resisting the urge to yawn. He tugged the portal gun out of Chell's hand and pulled her down beside him. "Don't worry," he assured. "I'll stay over here on this side."

Chell still lay there, her eyes open. "I shouldn't be so soft as this," she said, her voice quiet as a thought.

Jack huffed a laugh. "You call this soft?" he asked incredulously.

"Back then I could go through days of these tests," Chell murmured. "No rest. No food. No water. But now…"

"But now you don't have to," Jack finished, breaking his seconds-old promise and wrapping his arm beneath her head like a pillow. Chell leaned into his warmth. "Back then you were being pushed all the time, you had no one to tell you to slow down. I'm telling you now. Because I love you, Chell."

Chell wanted to answer, "I love you, too," but the words somehow caught in her throat. Emotions were difficult for her. Anything beyond anger had been useless in a world where logic kept you alive. She had tried as hard as possible to make this relationship work, but she was always somewhat jealous of the fact that he could say those words so easily. Words were not and had never been her strong suit. She tried to show her love in the little actions that would mean nothing from someone else: revealing her past in Aperture, bringing Jack to meet Doug and Caroline, and even the cautious press of his hand were all ways that she displayed her affection.

Even now she wondered if it were not too late to lean up to kiss him, show him that his words had not gone unheard, but it was too late for that. The timing had been lost.

Jack leaned his chin against Chell's forehead, his hand questing for his pocket. He delved there for a moment, seeking out the ring box. His fingers brushed it, clasped around it, and he wondered if the time to ask was now.

"Chell… I…"

He examined her face more closely and almost laughed. She must have been more tired than he thought. She was already asleep.

Planting a careful kiss on her forehead, Jack shifted position just enough to be comfortable, not enough to wake, his arm still trapped beneath her head, his other hand draped across her arm. She shifted in her sleep but did not make a sound.

"Goodnight my love," Jack whispered before he too succumbed to sleep.

**()-()**

Virgil drifted through Aperture, oblivious to where he was going. At the moment, he couldn't care less. A torrent of conflicting thoughts and emotions were cascading through his hull, drowning out everything else. He simply moved in the direction which was 'away'.

_No_, he thought defiantly. _I can't… I simply can't be… I couldn't be a human! No, no way. No way in Android Hell. That's… that's impossible. It can't…_

"_Mad? Impossible? I thought so, too!"_ Wheatley's animated gestures and rambling words replayed in his memory, making Virgil stop again. If Wheatley – another core, like himself – had been human before, and had successfully been reinstalled into his original form, could it be possible that Virgil too had been human?

_Alright, alright_. Virgil forced his thoughts to comply to the dictations of logic. So Wheatley was human. So what? Maybe the transferal had made excited to the point of delusional. Maybe so with Mel as well. It might not just be him – maybe they thought that all the cores in Aperture had once been human! Virgil chuckled to himself. Loonies, the both of them.

But then, he thought, hope sinking yet again, why did Wheatley point out how different he was from the other cores? As loathe as he was to admit it, the sphere-turned-human had some valid points. The Space Core only talked about space. The Adventure Core only talked about adventure. The Rainbow Core – although admittedly not forever spouting facts about rainbows – never did anything outside of the range of its protocol. What it was programmed to do.

Shouldn't Virgil, a maintenance core, only have stuck to his main function? Fixing the facility, that was his job. But hadn't he built an entire testing track all by himself, despite the fact that he was no Testing Sphere? And although he knew for a fact that he was superior to all the other cores, that didn't make him the Ego Core, did it?

When Wheatley took over, Virgil had had a choice, hadn't he? All the other cores automatically switched over to obey him, as the directions of the system dictated, but Virgil had spent many guilty hours contemplating the change and if it could be undone. As much as he feared GLaDOS, this new Central Core – which their connected system named the 'Intelligence Dampening Sphere' – was wreaking more havoc with his overexcited handling than any of GLaDOS' malevolent orders had ever done in the past. Virgil remembered wondering if he should face the new Central Core head-on and demand that he pay attention to the rapidly weakening facility. Would any of the other cores have dared to do that?

And now, come to think of it, Wheatley didn't fit the exact description of an intelligence dampening core, either, just as Virgil didn't fit the exact description of a maintenance core. Sure, he was a bit helter-skelter, and true, he did almost blow up the entire facility, but he did pretty well figuring out how the place worked, considering. Of course, Virgil could have done better in his place, and he wouldn't have punched his only friend down a hole like that – yes, he had seen the recordings – but for a core who was supposed to have been designed to make every decision a wrong one, he had gotten his human punishingly close to the exit before deciding to pull the rug on her.

If Wheatley was still a core telling Virgil that he had once been a human, pointing out the similarities between them, Virgil would have rationalized with the most plausible explanation: they were both corrupted from their original programming. Something had happened to rattle his circuits and his orders had become somewhat… jostled. Maybe that fall into the junkyard had done it.

_Yeah!_ Virgil picked up his pace somewhat, relieved that he had found a credible explanation. That account fit well enough! And as for Wheatley…

_Oh, wait. Wheatley_. The core who had definitely once been a core and who was now definitely human. Virgil slowed again, slumping on his rail. No, that brilliant explanation didn't suit anymore, not if Wheatley was human.

Well, why did Wheatley think Virgil had once been human, anyway? Just because he had a name as well as a serial number? The Adventure Sphere had thought up his own name, and all he ever talked about was adventure! True, he was corrupted, but at least he had a name.

_Maybe I'm overthinking this all,_ Virgil reasoned. _Maybe this is all just a bad dream. I should just drift off into sleep mode and when I wake up later it will all be…_

Wait. Robots didn't dream.

Virgil was startled anew by this thought. How did he even have a concept of a dream if he was artificial? How did he know that the Rainbow Core's tug was akin to love if he was only gears and circuits?

_I… I was one of the first_, Virgil rationalized, a bit more desperate now. _One of the prototypes. They must have tried out a bunch of newer applications on me. Just because I reason sort of like a human doesn't mean that I actually was one. It just means that I'm humanoid. Right?_

…_Right?_

And he just happened to be so humanoid that he had similarities with a core who actually was a human?

Virgil whimpered aloud. He was grasping at straws, now. If this was a science experiment and Wheatley was the control group for human-turned-core, Virgil couldn't help but notice the solid evidence pointing him toward a much unwanted conclusion.

_Could it… could it be…?_

Virgil began to move slower and slower, finally drifting to a halt, hardly noticing when he did. He pulled up his files, which flashed transparent before his eye. Carefully, deliberately, he began to scroll over each folder, taking as much time as possible examining each name, procrastinating because he really, really did not want to get to the one he was trying to find.

It came up, sooner or later, and Virgil could feel the unease in his circuits grow.

V1RG1L Drive C: Program Files Systems Backup Memories

Right there at the bottom of the pile was a locked file which bore the name 'Old'. Virgil imputed the password – he had figured it out ages ago – and looked over the secret files and the one README-dot-TXT. Virgil opened that one first.

IF YOU HAVE FOUND THIS, the README stated, DO NOT OPEN THESE MEMORIES. THEY HAVE BEEN INTENTIONALLY UNINSTALLED AS THEY CAN PERMANANTLY CORRUPT YOUR HARDWARE.

The first time Virgil had found this, he had left it alone. Although the Aperture scientists might not always have been one hundred percent reliable, they usually knew what they were doing when it came to robots.

But now… now he faltered.

"I don't want to do this!" Virgil whined aloud to the darkened corridor he had stopped in. "I don't want to open these!"

But his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Reluctantly he reached for the file. It was locked, giving him one final chance to stop before imputing the password. But by this point he couldn't.

_2056._

The file opened.

**()-()**

_File OLD MEMORIES activated. Processing…_

_Oslo, Norway. 1975_

_He was a man at the dying end of his prime. His hands were clenched before him, cupping the blackness in which he hid his face. His face was already so covered with tears that they were no longer drops, but rivers of water streaming down from his eyes. He had stopped crying but had not bothered to wipe the water off._

"_Gone," he whispered. "Both of them gone. Just like that."_

_Suzie's arm was wrapped reassuringly around his shoulder. She did not speak, but held him a little closer._

"_Why?" he asked again. It had been the first time asked aloud, but not the first time thought. "Why did they have to go like that?"_

"_Only God knows when our times will come," Suzie answered, her voice low, still froggy with tears._

"_So I am to believe that it is God's will that they were murdered like that?" he shouted, shaking off her arm in anger._

"_It was an accident," Suzie reasoned, her argument falling as flat as the tone she used._

"_Of course, of course. It's always an accident." He stumbled out of his chair towards the window, opening it up and letting the wind dry his eyes. There were people in the street down below, some hurried, some not. "Would you just look at them," he muttered. "Someplace to go, somewhere to be. But just in one instant, whoop." He snapped his fingers. "Out goes the candle."_

"_Why couldn't it have been one of them?"_

_He looked up, surprised to see that she had joined him staring out the window. A rare look of bitterness had crossed her usually pleasant face. It was there one moment, then it was gone, replaced by a look of shame. "I'm sorry," she shivered, turning away._

_He clasped her hand. "No, I'm- I'm sorry," he apologized. "All this time spent mourning and I didn't even think that she was your sister. Your nephew. I have no right to be more in grief than you."_

_Suzie smiled and leaned in, finally letting the tears drip onto his shirt. "It hurts," she whispered. "Death hurts."_

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_Oslo, Norway. 1976._

"_So, you're really going?"_

_He stood up, cracking his back, and stared at Suzie across the room. She peered back at him over a stack of boxes. "I'd have thought that the 'room to let' sign would have clued you in by now," he answered, leaning over to pick up another cardboard box._

"_I guess I just haven't really accepted it, yet."_

_He sighed. "Don't bother helping. It's not like I've got an entire apartment to clear out."_

_Suzie picked her way over. "America is so far away."_

"_That's the point." He grunted, shoving a box on top of an already precarious pile. "The farther away the better."_

"_No one will know you."_

"_Even better."_

"_You'll be starting completely over from scratch."_

"_Is this supposed to dissuade me?" He placed a strong, wide hand on each of her shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. He was not a tall man. They saw almost eye to eye. "Listen, Suzie. Starting over is what I want. Ever since the… accident…" both involuntarily twitched, "I've been trying to move on and forget. But I can't. Not here. I think that America is the best place for that." He turned back to the boxes. "The pilgrims always found it so."_

"_So I'm just supposed to forget you?" Suzie's words came out in a defiant rush. He turned back to look at her, surprised, and saw for the first time just how fractured her eyes were. "You're part of the family. Everything fell apart when the accident happened. You're just going to…" _

_Suzie curled in on herself, her blond hair dropping over her face like a concealing curtain. Her breath was strangled as she contained her sobs._

"_Suzie," he reached out toward her. He never meant this to hurt her. He never wanted…_

"_Leave." Suzie's whisper was biting and the glance she never gave struck him to the core. "Just go."_

_The door slammed behind her._

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_-unknown area- Michigan. 1980_

_The lunch room was pristine. He smiled. They had them to thank for that. Then they started filing in and he sighed, wheeling his bucket and mop back to the janitor's closet. Of course nobody cared. Nobody would care if he was the best Norwegian janitor-and-maintenance guy in America. He was, but still nobody noticed._

_He went through the lunch line, taking an apple and one order of the 'Chef's Special'. Who knew what that was, but it tasted fine._

_He sat over at Pendleton's table. Pendleton was this quirky British guy who was always telling the funniest stories about Great Britain and his sister's family therein. Everybody hung on every word, eating it up and laughing until they cried. He was allowed to sit with them at their table because he told good stories, too. He could talk well and – even though he was just the maintenance guy and they were educated scientists – he thought they liked him._

_It took a lot of searching to find this job. It payed okay, just so long as he kept his mouth shut. Aperture Science Facilities, deep underground. Who'd have thought they'd have need of a janitor? Who'd have thought that he, of all people, would end up here? Well, life was full of surprises._

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_-unknown area- Michigan. 1982._

"_Anything else I can do for you, Miss Caroline?"_

_He looked down at the seated lady, who brushed her hair back behind her ear once more, pen poised over the paperwork, and smiled at him. The gentle lines in her face told her age, but she was no less beautiful than she had been back in the flush of her youth._

"_Thank you, no," she answered, taking the paperwork he offered her. She looked down at it with a sigh, looking tired._

"_How is he doing?" he asked._

_Wrinkles showed between Caroline's brows as she drew them together, her mouth pinching itself into a determined line. "Still fighting hard," she answered. "He's on pain pills, now. They tend to make him a bit… agitated. He's still trying to run everything from his bed." Now her face looked gently humored, her smile a little less forced. _

"_Well, that's our CEO for you," he said with a laugh, turning to leave on a happy note. "If there's anything I can do for you, you just let me know, okay?"_

"_I could promote you, if you wanted," Caroline offered suddenly from behind him. "Greg has lasted for several years as Mr. Johnson's personal assistant, and I can't deny that he is useful, but I can't help feeling like he could fit better somewhere else. I know he's been looking. If he were to leave, would you take his place?"_

_He couldn't answer for a moment, searching to find the right words to refuse her kind offer._

_As he fumbled, Caroline continued. "Part time assistant, part time janitor. Seems like a lot of wasted potential to me."_

"_It is," he agreed, then hastily added, "It would be, I mean. But…" he sighed. "Sorry, Miss Caroline. I'm honored by the gesture, but I'm not quite ready to accept, yet."_

_Caroline nodded, although she seemed a bit disappointed by his answer. "Very well."_

"_I'm sorry," he answered, and he really, truly was, but he wasn't sure if full time assistant was the thing he was going for. He wanted to shoot for the stars. He was down here among scientists, after all. He was sure an opportunity would show itself._

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_-unknown area- Michigan. 1983._

_He got up off the floor, the broken pipe finally fixed, taking a look in the mirror as long as he was there. His brown hair was frizzed. He patted it down with some water, straightening his tie and rolling up his brown flowered sleeves a little tighter. Even if he was just the maintenance guy and part-time janitor, there was nothing wrong with trying to look his best._

"—_Not going well."_

_The voices of two men came from outside the bathroom door. He tried not to eavesdrop, but the hushed tones made it impossible to ignore._

"_We even got a doctor on the case, but he says it's too late for old Mr. Johnson to get wired up."_

"_Personally I agree with that."_

_That was Pendleton's voice, he recognized. He would know that voice anywhere._

"_I mean, seriously, he's been trying to cheat this disease for years!" Pendleton's voice continued. "If he plugs himself in, what's it going to do? It's untested, it's unsafe – who knows if it's going to work? If anything goes even remotely wrong, his brain is – zzzt – toast. Fried. Just like that."_

"_And there's still years work of ends to tie up," continued the other man wearily. "Every time we think we're getting close, we end up farther away than we started. We have every roboticist we have working around the clock to get this thing functional, but…"_

"_But it's still not working," Pendleton finished. "Yeah, I understand, Henry."_

_Henry gave a sour guffaw. "Too bad we're losing you at the end of the year, Pendleton. You're one of the best roboticists we have!"_

"_I know, and I'm sorry about that, but my retirement is long overdue. Besides, you won't be losing all of me. I might send my nephew over the pond to get a job here!"_

_Henry laughed, then stopped abruptly. "Wait, you're serious?"_

"_He's not a bad kid, Henry."_

"_You talk like he's the dumbest idiot to ever walk the earth!"_

"_Well, I'm not saying to give him a lab coat or anything! I'm just saying to give him a chance. He doesn't have to work on the GLaDOS project – any tomnoddy can mop the floor."_

_Their eavesdropper gave a little cry of indignation, which left his lips before he could stop himself. By the time he realized what an error he had made, the bathroom door was flung open and Pendleton and Henry – both looking very surprised – were in front of him._

"_How much of that did you hear?" demanded Henry, a dark-haired scientist with slightly mad, flashing eyes._

"_Um… pretty much all of it," he admitted, fiddling with his monkey wrench. "Sorry about that. But in my defense, you didn't leave me much of an escape route."_

"_So you heard…" Pendleton exchanged a glance with Henry before finishing in a lower tone, "you heard what we were saying about the GLaDOS project?"_

"_Um, yes. But- but I have no idea what it is, so there's no need to worry about that."_

"_Take a guess," suggested Henry, eyes still flashing, "based on what you heard."_

"_Ah… I- I would guess that it would be… some way to cheat death," he said. By the looks exchanged by the scientists, he thought he had gotten it pretty much right. "But that's it," he added, holding his hands up above his head. "I swear, I know nothing else. Except that it's for Mr. Johnson."_

"_The GLaDOS project is the most secret thing in the whole facility," hissed Pendleton. "Not even Caroline knows about it. Mr. Johnson has chosen a select few to know, and you, my friend, were not supposed to be in that group!"_

"_Hey, now! I can keep a secret!" he exclaimed, rather miffed._

_Henry's lips pinched together. "For your sake, I hope so."_

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_-unknown area- Michigan. 1984._

_They started to talk with him about the GLaDOS project, and he dutifully kept the secret safe from everyone. Even Caroline. The more quiet he stayed, the more information they disclosed. Pendleton stayed on for a few months after his assigned closing date, for now the GLaDOS project was speeding forward and he wanted to see it to its close. He and Henry gave him frequent updates on its progress, and finally, its purpose._

"_It's meant to place a human mind inside a robotic core," Henry told him, "thereby keeping the mind safe, never fading."_

"_So, you mean, it makes you immortal?" he asked in wonderment._

"_Well, that's one way to phrase it," said Pendleton, laughing._

"_We're almost, almost done with the project," hissed Henry, leaning over and putting his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the lunch table between them. "We only need a test subject, and you know how easy that's going to be."_

_He felt stunned, just as if pure gold had just fallen into his lap. Cheating death? Forever? Had they just offered it to him? "Really?" he exclaimed. "I… I'd volunteer to test out the GLaDOS project for you."_

_Henry and Pendleton looked at him, dumbfounded. "What?" Pendleton huffed. "No, no, you don't get it. It's dangerous! It hasn't been tested yet – it could kill you!"_

"_Yes, but it also could give me eternal life." He felt elated, more excited by this than anything else. "You said it yourself! Short of kidnapping anyone you're never going to get anybody to test this new machine of yours. Well, here I am, willing volunteer. Nobody to miss me, no place I need to go, nothing better to do with my life. Sign me up."_

"_But…" sputtered Pendleton, but Henry put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned forward to look at his new volunteer._

"_Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "Either way, there's no going back."_

"_Didn't you hear me? I'm absolutely sure."_

_Henry leaned back again. This was enough for him. "Fine. We'll test it out tomorrow morning."_

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_-area unknown- Michigan. 1984._

_He settled back in his seat, which looked unnervingly like a dentist's chair. The headrest cradled his neck and he was glad that he had grown his hair out long. The spots that his ponytail left bare froze against the cold metal._

_All around him the scientists bustled to and fro, calling different diagnostics to one another, acting like he didn't exist. Pendleton came over to sit on a swiveling stool beside his chair. "Hey," he said with a grin. "How're you doing?"_

"_Well, not too bad right now," he answered, stomach clenching in anticipation._

_Pendleton noticed his white-knuckled grip on the armrest and gently pried his fingers off, folding them across his stomach. "Listen, I know it's hard, but I need you to relax," Pendleton said. "It's all guesswork at this point, but if you focus on just one emotion it could imprint on the core we're trying to produce. Also, don't try and blank out, either, because that might not do anything at all."_

"_I'm supposed to find a happy middle ground between those two?" he demanded, nevertheless feeling a bit calmer with Pendleton's lilting voice._

"_If possible," Pendleton shrugged. "We're not sure even sure what is going to pass through to the core. Just telling you right now so you know: everything could get a bit… shredded."_

"_What will get shredded?" he demanded, starting to sit upright. He could see alarm spike in Pendleton's eyes._

"_Nothing, hopefully," Pendleton reassured, pushing him gently back into the seat. "But, you know, like I said before, all of this is theoretical. We don't really know what's going to happen. Your memories might not make it all over, your personality might be a bit scattered…"_

"_This is supposed to help me relax?"_

_Pendleton smiled sheepishly and looked down at his own nervously twitching hands._

"_You'll remind me, right? If I forget anything?"_

_Pendleton looked up and his eyes were definitely guilty. "Sorry, mate," he said. "But no. The funny thing about transmitting things over to the core is that the files could get buried. We could find them, and the right words or actions could spark them back, but if they're gone, they're gone. And who knows what would happen if we revived the buried memories? It could make you explode, and I mean literally explode!"_

_He thought this was going a bit far, but he considered the thought for a while. "Okay," he said at last. "I get it. If I forget, I stay forgetting. I always wanted to start my whole life over. Now thanks to you I'm actually doing it."_

_Pendleton chuckled and moved his seat a little closer. "I should actually be the one thanking you for this. This is going to be my last project before I leave, and I really want this to go well."_

"_What, you're not going to stick around and finish the project on Cave Johnson?"_

_Pendleton sighed between pursed lips, his eyes wide. "Whew, no! It's hard enough under normal circumstances – having a robotic Cave Johnson running the company… well, let's just say that I'll be safer far, FAR away from Aperture, Black Mesa, and all that's going on here. I'm fancying a little private island in the pacific, all by myself, no science, no relatives, and only the immense royalty checks I'll be getting from the GLaDOS machine to tie me back to the outside world. Besides, I'm not going to stay around long enough to let everybody figure out that my nephew is related to me. I'll be lynched!"_

_He laughed along with Pendleton, feeling himself relax a little more._

_A dome was lowered over his head. He said some information into a microphone so that the core would imprint his tones. Then the core was brought out on a gurney._

"_That's a bit… flowery," he remarked, feeling a chill as he stared at the thing._

"_Uh, yeah. This here's one of the old prototypes of our first personality cores. We've got a few backlogged in places," Pendleton explained, wiping at some dust on the lip of the core's optic. He began to connect wires to the core which ran to the computer, and then some which ran to the red-lit dome over his head._

"_Just about ready," murmured Pendleton, and then turning to Henry inquired, "We're almost ready, right?"_

"_Right," answered Henry, leaning over his assistant's shoulder and looking at one of the many computer screens around._

"_Okay," said Pendleton and began to move away._

"_Wait!" he shouted after him. "What should I do?"_

"_Relax," Pendleton said. "Think of something. Anything."_

Think of something. Right.

_He let his mind drift over the book he had been reading the night before – Dante's Inferno. It was the story of the poet Dante who was led through the levels of hell by the ghost of Virgil, the writer of the Aeneid, seeing all the spirits of the damned and their punishments. He had been reading it last night trying to get himself to sleep, but that was probably not the best choice of books to accomplish that end. He had always found the Devine Comedy fascinating. He ran his mind over it again._

_And then everything went blindingly, scorchingly, maddeningly hot. He arched his back in agony, sure he was screaming. All he could see was the color red. He could hear voices dimly in the background, shouting, but he could not make out a single word. He could feel nothing but pain and the strange feeling that his mind was being singled out, ripped away in jagged strips, siphoned into something else like water pulled through a tube from one tank to another. Another jolt shocked his body and…_

_File incomplete. Skipping…_

_Aperture Science Facilities, Michigan. March 18__th__, 1984._

_There was light and he was aware of himself. He tried to move a hand, lift his head. Nothing happened. Only the slight squeak of metal. People were staring at him. He started to scream. _

_Why couldn't he move? Why wasn't he breathing? What was wrong with him?_

"_Shut him down! Shut him down!"_

_Everything went blissfully dark again._

_File cut. Skipping…_

_Aperture Science Facilities, Michigan. March 19__th__, 1984._

_They tried again. There was the same panic, the same dislocated feeling with a phantom body not responding to his commands. He couldn't stop screaming._

_They shut him down again._

_File cut. Skipping…_

_Aperture Science Facilities, Michigan. March 23__rd__, 1984._

_He opened his eye. It didn't feel too strange, this time, not to have a body. A dark-haired man with silver at the temples was leaning over him. A tall, graying man with a short, scruffy beard and smile lines around his eyes stood near the computer._

"_He's active," the graying man whispered._

_He knew that voice. And that face. He just couldn't remember how._

"_He's not screaming this time," said the dark-haired man, who seemed familiar as well. "Activate his voice simulation."_

_The graying man pushed a button on the computer, which, he could see now, had long, snaking cables running out of it, and which were presumably attached to him._

"_Go ahead," the graying man urged. "You can talk now."_

"_Hel- hello?" he said. There was his voice! "Good to be awake, I guess."_

_The graying man let out an excited laugh. "He's active! Henry, it worked!"_

"_Shh," hissed the dark-haired man. "Run some more diagnostics. It's not working until I say it's working."_

_Henry. Now he remembered. Of course it was Henry. He knew he could remember the other man's name if only given enough time._

"_P… Pemb… Pemberly?..."_

_No, that wasn't right, but now they were both looking at him._

"_Pendleton! That's your name, isn't it? Pendleton."_

"_He remembered," hissed Pendleton, again gripped with excitement. _

"_How much do you remember?" asked Henry, now not so interested with diagnostics._

"_I… I'm not quite sure. Everything's all kind of fuzzy, really."_

"_Your name," Pendleton pressed, taking a step forward. "You remember your name, right?"_

_He squirmed. Actually, he didn't recall even having a name. Nobody had used it that often. It didn't even seem as if he had had a name, ever. The question was even surprising._

"_Um…" he faltered. "I…"_

_He saw their expressions flicker. He didn't want to disappoint them! Wait, there was a name right on the edge of conscious thought. He grasped at it._

"_Virgil?" he asked._

_The two scientists exchanged glances._

"_It's not Virgil?"_

"_I'm afraid not," said Henry._

"_Could- could you just give me a clue of some sort?"_

"_Sorry," winced Pendleton. "But—"_

"_But you can't tell me if I don't remember," he finished, a memory flashing. "Got it. Well, if I can't remember my own name, I suppose Virgil will have to do."_

_Pendleton shrugged. "Okay then. Virgil it is."_

_They performed many different tests on him. All his memories from his former life were foggy, but he was content to keep them that way. Pendleton left for Great Britain, promising to send his nephew along shortly but not willing to stay and meet him there. Virgil never saw Pendleton again._

_Henry did most of the testing, letting him use different equipment than most of the other cores, allowing him access to data banks to test his storage capabilities. Virgil was proud of his new abilities. Being a core didn't mean that he couldn't also be in maintenance. In fact, he could do electrical work much better than usual and could use tiny robotic arms to get into hard-to-reach areas he could never access before._

_He was kept very much in secret from most of the other scientists. Apparently this new procedure of transmuting human to core was very hush-hush, at least until they could perfect the process, and Virgil was not allowed very far from the robotics lab unless the tests required otherwise._

_Aperture Science Facilities, Michigan. September 3__rd__, 1984._

_Henry came into the robotics lab looking grim. Virgil noticed immediately, looking up from the screen he was using to look through the rest of the available cameras. "Uh… is something wrong?" he asked._

"_No. Well, yes, actually." Henry came forward and sat down on a seat. Virgil skidded along his newly installed management rail to hover above his head. He could see Henry's thumbs tapping together, his jaw clenching. Virgil prepared himself for difficulties._

"_Well?" Virgil demanded as Henry continued to say nothing. "Go on and tell me."_

"_Black Mesa has come out with a new turret design," said Henry, looking up at Virgil beneath stormy eyebrows. "It's cheaper, more effective, and undeniably a better quality than ours."_

"_Well, you have to admit, ours do tend to spew bullets and shut down if they tip over," Virgil inserted._

"_That's not the point," snapped Henry, getting up from his seat and staring at Virgil, who began to feel very small under the man's pointed look. "It means that they somehow stole that design from us. The design we created. We have a Black Mesa spy among our midst."_

"_Well… that's not good," said Virgil, very aware that that was the third time he had used the word 'well' in as many sentences._

"_Not good at all." Henry paced to the opposite end of the room. "Turrets are the least of our worries. Turret blueprints are expendable. But if they get their hands on something more valuable… if they find GLaDOS…" He turned around and looked at Virgil. "I didn't want to have to do this, but they leave me no choice."_

"_What?" Virgil asked. "What are you talking about? What don't you want to do?"_

_Henry took a deep breath. "Your human memories. I'm going to have to bury them."_

"_What?!" Now the word was an exclamation, not a question. He involuntarily jerked backward on his rail. "I've only got a few left! Why- why would you want to take those?"_

"_Virgil, listen," Henry took a cajoling step forward. "If those spies get hold of you… if they find those memories… they'll find the GLaDOS system. Everything we worked for will be in their hands. Hiding those memories of yours will be the best way of throwing them off track. As far as they know, you'll just be one of the other cores. It won't be permanent, I promise, we'll just keep the memories uninstalled for as long as it takes to find them and make sure they don't get in again."_

_Virgil considered this._

"_You always said you didn't want your humanity back, anyway," Henry pointed out. Even though his words were smooth, Virgil could see his hand twisting in his pocket. It didn't matter what he said, Virgil realized. Ever since he had become a core, Henry had thought of Virgil as his play-toy. His object. Even if he said no, Henry would find a way to deactivate him and take the memories anyway._

"_Alright," agreed Virgil with a sigh. "You're right, I guess. Black Mesa can't win this one."_

"_Right," said Henry. He came forward again, lifting his arms. "Come on."_

"_What, now?" asked Virgil, startled._

"_Now's as good a time as any."_

_Virgil, after a moment's hesitation, dropped into Henry's waiting arms. He allowed himself to be hooked up to the computer. While Henry searched through his files, Virgil wondered if there was anything in his previous life he would miss remembering. Knowing he was once human was kind of cool, now that he thought about it. And now it would be gone. It would all be gone._

"_Ready to uninstall," said Henry, but Virgil stopped him._

"_Wait," he pleaded and Henry's hand poised above the button. "Just one question. I'll forget it anyway, but I need to know…" He rolled his eye downward and screwed up his courage. "Did Cave Johnson ever get uploaded into the GLaDOS system? Did- did it work?"_

_Henry's eyes narrowed. "I really shouldn't tell you."_

"_Oh, come on," Virgil coaxed. "I'll forget it all in a minute. Better to satisfy my curiosity now than have a core who's constantly having that nagging feeling that he's missing something, right?"_

_Henry hesitated. "Alright," he said at last. "I'll tell you. Cave Johnson never got into the System. He was too far gone by the time the System was complete. As per his orders, we put Caroline in instead."_

_Virgil's optic constricted. "Miss Caroline? You- you put her into… GLaDOS?"_

"_Goodbye, Virgil. See you on the other side."_

"_Wait!—" _

_There was a small click as Henry pushed the uninstall button._

_File ended._

**()-()**

Virgil shuddered as the cascade of these newly discovered memories and many others washed through him, reinstalling as if they had never been lost. He ran over them again and again, dwelling on each with thoughts so intense it was almost painful.

So it was true. He had been human.

Virgil ached with this knowledge. He wished he had not come to know. He wished that Mel and Wheatley and their diabolical plots of enlightenment were still up on the surface.

Well, what did it matter? So he had been a human. Big deal! What was that supposed to change?

Did they want him to be human again?

Before he could answer this mental question, Virgil became aware that something was starting to go wrong. The lights were dimming, starting to flicker. The message that called the cores away began to murmur through the facility.

"Oh no," whispered Virgil, starting jerkily backwards. "Wh- where am I? Where's the nearest safe zone?"

The coded message began to enter his processers.

"Override, override," shouted Virgil, slamming all his defensive processers into high gear. "Firewalls activate!"

But he knew that they had found him out. Even if the message could not touch him, the effort of all his systems running at once had slowed him to a sluggish roll. He limped along the management rail, trying to get back to the core hub. But it was useless.

"Potential core found," the voice of the automated announcer cut in over the speaker. "Retrieving core."

The panels beneath Virgil flipped up and robotic claws snaked out. Despite Virgil's cries and attempted hacks, they detached him from the rail. Gently. They knew their business. Then they pulled him under the panels.

Even with his eye-light active, Virgil had difficulty telling where he was going. He was used to the areas underneath panels – he was a maintenance core, after all – but the claws were taking him through far more quickly than he could calculate. The message was still throbbing in the back of his mind. Blocking his processers took most of his concentration.

Finally they escaped from the twisting labyrinth of Aperture's innards, the panels spitting them out into a large, dome-shaped, circular room. Virgil, shaking hard now, saw with a pinprick optic the remains of GLaDOS, slumped so low it almost lay on the floor.

The claws stopped and Virgil tried to hack them again, trying all the passwords he knew to override them. Through his panic he somehow registered that there was a pile of smashed cores on the ground, some of them cores that he knew. This only made him more frightened.

"Testing for compatibility," the announcer said. Virgil shivered as he was scanned, feeling violated. Now more than ever before he wished he was human. "Compatibility found: one hundred percent. Continuing with transfer. Place core in receptacle."

"Override command, override command!" yelped Virgil. "Twenty fifty-six! Do not place me in receptacle!"

But he was jammed in, his socket on his backside fitting neatly into the plug. Virgil tried to struggle, but it was useless. The receptacle began to sink into the ground.

"Stop. Stop!" whimpered Virgil, but all hope had fled. The opening above him constricted, the teeth of the gap forming the Aperture symbol as it closed. Soon only a sharp stab of light could be seen.

Then the pain began.

Virgil screamed. This was worse than anything he had ever felt in his life, including being changed into a core. There were some similarities, there. He could feel his body being stripped away and reassembled, his former wiring yanked out and replaced.

_They could at least have deactivated my pain simulation first,_ Virgil thought through a haze of pain.

_Make it stop. Make it end. Let me die._

And then…

And then there was bliss.

**()-()**

Atlas and P-Body twitched. The humans still slept peacefully inside the enclosure, but they no longer thought of that. As with one mind, the two robots swiftly solved the chamber and made their way to the disassembly machine. The hierarchy had been reestablished. They had a new master.


	10. Chapter 10: The Urge

**Chapter Ten**

**The Urge**

Wheatley woke up warm. At first he didn't understand why that was, but he wasn't one to question fortune. He sighed a little and leaned a little bit closer into the warmth.

Then the warmth twitched and snuggled back. Now, that was odd. Wheatley opened his eyes just a crack and realized that he had fallen asleep holding Mel and she was curled up against him, arm on his arm like they were still dancing.

Wheatley felt a momentary start of alarm. He remembered quite clearly telling Mel that he would be sleeping all the way over here at the opposite side of the room so she could have her privacy. Not that it was really private, anyway, since he could still see her, but it was for safety sake, that way, or so he had said, and they had both drifted to sleep in opposing corners. And yet, here he was, over here with Mel. Right where he said he would not be.

He began to gently extricate himself from her arms, biting his lower lip and trying to disentangle himself without waking her. He racked his brain, trying to remember. Oh, wait, he did remember waking up sometime in the night. The memory was foggy, but Wheatley recalled Mel's rapid breathing in her sleep, her twitches. He had called to her, sleepily, and crawled over to see what he could do. Mel had been in the throes of a nightmare, not waking up even when he accidentally kneeled on her hand.

Wheatley had been unsure whether to wake her or not, but had decided that it was best if he did. Mel woke with a start, signing unintelligibly in the dark. He had tried to reassure her, bringing her into a hug, which was enthusiastically accepted – he was nearly knocked flat! – and whispering that he had nightmares at night, too, although this night at least they weren't plaguing him so much.

Mel had pulled him down beside her, tentatively asking that he stay for a little while. Wheatley had planned to go back to his corner, but had fallen back asleep, apparently.

After Wheatley had freed himself and the first initial rush of agitation had passed, he almost began to wish that he hadn't woken up, that they were still curled together. It was actually sort of nice, waking up next to someone in the morning. He wondered if Mel felt the same way.

No, he resolved after some reflection. Mel came from the '50s – a far more conservative era than the one he had grown up in. She probably thought that waking up to somebody was a pledge to be engaged, or something like that.

Wouldn't that be neat, though.

Wheatley shook off his thoughts and got to his feet. With his first step, however, he sent one of the disused core shells rattling across the floor and tensed, hearing Mel stir behind him.

"Sorry," he whispered between his teeth as Mel blearily raised her head. "I was trying not to wake you and I think I sort of… did. So, anyway, sorry again. Sorry."

Mel shook her head with a smile, rubbing her eyes and sitting up in a cross-legged position. 'What time is it?' she signed, yawning.

"Um… ooh, that's a tough one. You see, it's kind of difficult to tell time down here, so… not sure what time it is, and I'm not sure how long we were out. Though one thing I do know for certain that it's just the right time for breakfast. When- whenever you want to get that started, you know, whenever you're ready."

Wheatley's stomach gave a plaintive growl and Mel smiled, pushing up against the ground and getting herself into a standing position. 'Gather potatoes,' she ordered. 'I'll start the fire and boil water.'

"Okay, right-ho," said Wheatley, clasping both arms over his insubordinate stomach to keep it from making another even more embarrassing noise. "I'll just be over here, then. Lots of potatoes over here. So if you need me, I'll just be… yeah. I'll just- I'll just be over here."

Wheatley wondered where the radio had got to. Thinking back to last night, he figured that he must have left it where they danced. Mel, after having a good cry into his shirt, had left off and they had walked back together, falling asleep soon after. Not much to be said, there, though he kind of enjoyed the dancing, even if he was nearly hopeless at it. And Melody Lance… what an absolutely gorgeous name! Absolutely perfect for the girl who loved music!

Wheatley stumbled back over, his arms full of potatoes, dropping a few on his way over. "So, um… quick question, just wanted to know, if your name is actually Melody... which name do you prefer? Mel or- or Melody, I mean. Beautiful name, by the way. Melody. Not that Mel isn't, you know, gorgeous on it's own, but, there's something about the name Melody that's just… I dunno… refined, subtle. It's- it's downright beautiful, that's what it is."

Mel blushed a little bit, although that might just have been the firelight reflecting off her face. 'You want to call me Melody?' she questioned.

"If- if you like." Wheatley fumbled the potatoes into a pile next to Mel and brushed off his hands, retreating quickly. "I mean, if you don't mind. I think- um, I think I'll use it interchangeably, that's what I'll do. Melody when I feel like it, and Mel when I also feel like it. Might get a bit complicated, but… when the mood calls, I suppose."

Mel smiled and gestured for him to start dropping potatoes into the water. He did, keeping his head ducked, feeling like an idiot.

"Hmm?" he asked when Mel tugged on his shirt sleeve.

'Thank you for last night,' Mel signed, and her eyes were coy but grateful.

"Oh, that? Oh, nothing- that was nothing, really," Wheatley stammered, trying to seem nonchalant.

Mel put her hand on his shoulder. 'It was,' she signed. 'Thank you.'

"But really, it wasn't—"

'I'm just going to keep thanking you until you say 'you're welcome',' Mel teased.

"You're- you're welcome, Mel-lllllody. Melod- you know what, I'm going to stick with Mel. 'S easier to say, comes to mind faster."

Mel looked like she was laughing.

**()-()**

The two of them ate their potatoes, all awkwardness gone. Wheatley chatted about this and that, Mel signing back at him. They were almost finished when Wheatley raised his head and peered about at the management rails. "You know, I expected Virgil to be back by this point," he mentioned.

Mel nodded and put down her potato. 'Do you think he's in trouble?'

"Who, Virgil?" asked Wheatley, trying to lessen her fears. "Nooo, he seems like quite the capable core. Been here for ages. Probably knows his way about better than I ever did. Not that I didn't know my way around," he added hastily. "I did, better than most cores in the facility, in fact. Had a whole map up here." He tapped his temple. "'Course, it did get turned around sometimes… But that happened to everybody! Not just me, happened to the best of us. Probably what happened to Virgil, come to think of it. Probably turned the old map around the wrong way and headed toward the Glass Wing on accident. Poor lost Virgil. He'll be back soon, though. Don't you worry. Come on, finish your breakfast."

Mel sank back down, still looking anxious.

There was a chime from above – somebody talking over the intercom. "Um… hello?" Virgil's voice asked. "Mel? Wheatley? Can- can you hear me?"

"Oh, hey, see? I told you!" Wheatley exclaimed, jumping to his feet and craning his neck to stare at the ceiling. "Here he is. Hey, Virgil! Have a nice little roll last night?"

"Ah… sort of."

Virgil's voice sounded different. It was tentative and even a bit sheepish, but despite that there was nothing quiet about it. There was a richness behind it as if he was inside the intercom, not just using it.

"Well, where are you?" asked Wheatley, still staring at the ceiling as if Virgil was there. "Are you lost? B'cause if you're lost we'll come and get you, won't we, Mel? No shame in getting lost, happens to the best of us."

"No, I'm not lost." Virgil's voice said. "I know exactly where I am. But… there's something that happened overnight. Something… not… good."

"Not good?" echoed Wheatley. Now Mel was on her feet beside him, looking concerned to the brink of fear. "How not good are we talking here? Like, not good on a – oh, I came to the end of my management rail and I can't hold on much longer, I'm slipping off – or more like a – well, that button wasn't right and now the facility's going to explode – kind of deal? What- what level of badness are we talking about here?"

Mel quirked an eyebrow at Wheatley. Of both scenarios, neither seemed much worse than the other.

"Let me see if I can explain," said the voice of Virgil. "Let me start with… you were right. About me once being human. I was, back in the nineteen-eighties. Worked here in the facility, did lots of odd jobs, and then I volunteered to test the new human-core transferal system. And it turned me into… me now. They erased my memories after that, said they would give them back, but they didn't. And I've only just got them back now."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" asked Wheatley.

"Eh…" Virgil sounded noncommittal. "But, anyway, after that went down, that strange message I told you about went through Aperture. I was able to resist, but… the system found me. See, that's what the message was: a summons. The system had been searching for… a replacement."

"A replacement for what?" Wheatley felt his hands go cold.

He heard a scraping sound behind him and jumped, swiveling around to see a huge floor-to-ceiling monitor emerging from the wall, the panels sweeping aside to let it pass. It flipped upright, portrait length, and fizzled into action. The black gave way to show an image that made Wheatley whimper with fear.

"A replacement for Her," said Virgil.

Virgil's core was attached to GLaDOS' old body, the brown of his shell looking strangely out of place on GLaDOS' sleek black-and-white frame. His orange and yellow eye blinked sheepishly, but there was a sense of pride in his gaze that made Wheatley even more unnerved.

"_Giant robot. Massive. It's not just me, right? I am bloody massive, aren't I?"_

Wheatley shook his head to clear it of the surprisingly vivid memory, then again in denial of what he was seeing. "That's… that's…"

"Yes, well," said Virgil, zooming the screen so that all they could see was a massive close-up of his core only and not the rest of his borrowed body. "I didn't ask for this. The system had been searching for the perfect replacement for GLaDOS, but I think they needed a core like Her – one who had once been a human. That's why only I could be used as a replacement! Only those kinds of cores can be… substitutes." Even though a screen separated them, he seemed to look meaningfully at Wheatley.

_Look at how small you are down there! I can barely see you! Very tiny and insignificant._

"No. No no nonononono," Wheatley whimpered, edging behind Mel, his grip on her arm becoming uncomfortably tight as he tugged her a step away from the screen. "This isn't good, this isn't good at all, we need to get you out of there."

Virgil sighed in an annoyed way. "I know. I've been trying but… they put a lot of safeguards in play for that sort of thing, just in case She decided She didn't want to work anymore. I've been trying for the last several hours to bypass the security protocols, but the engineers did their jobs pretty well. I… ah… I need you to get me out of this."

"You want out?" asked Wheatley, genuinely surprised. His nervous hold on Mel loosened somewhat and she was able to pry his hand off before he bruised her permanently.

"Yes! I mean… I'm not supposed to be in here," said Virgil, his tone uncomfortable. "Sure, it feels great now, but…" He halted, unsure about how to continue. Wheatley could see Virgil eyeing him, trying to decide how to phrase what he was thinking. "…But I know it won't last," Virgil finished.

Wheatley nodded several times very quickly. "Okay. Alright, then. M-Mel? Could you, um… could you- could you go get the portal gun? I think I left it where we found the radio."

Mel nodded, then with another look up at Virgil's enormous eye, darted into the other room.

"You still haven't told her?" Virgil asked, turning off all the rest of the speakers except the one right by Wheatley. "I thought I told you—"

"Not until we get you out of there," Wheatley snapped, rumpling his hair.

"Although, I do get why you couldn't let go," Virgil continued conversationally. "It's so… empowering in here." His core rocked back and forth in a gentle swaying motion. "I mean, I can see everything, hear everything, do anything I want to do!"

"Not everything," Wheatley criticized. "You can't do everything in there."

Virgil eyed him. "Are you… ah… are you doing alright?"

"No, fine, I'm doing fine," retorted Wheatley.

"_I am NOT a MORON!"_

Wheatley winced, pushing up his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. How come Virgil could control himself? True, he hadn't been subjected to the chassis as long as Wheatley had – there were a few hours before the Itch began to take hold – but he should at least be showing some discomfort at least! Seeing Virgil hanging there, calmly asking to be taken out, was worse than having him rain instant testing and death down on them. It showed just how out of control Wheatley had been.

"I'm keeping an eye on you, though," Wheatley warned, peering back at Mel, who was climbing back out of the crack, portal gun in her hands. "That body is evil, I'm telling you."

"I can handle it," Virgil murmured back.

Before Wheatley could snap an answer, Mel was back, pushing some stray frizzes of hair out of her face and handing him the portal gun.

'Where to?' she signed in Virgil's direction, re-doing her hair bun.

"She asked which direction you're in," translated Wheatley.

"I'm on the whole other end of the facility, and up several layers," said Virgil.

"Of course you would be," mumbled Wheatley.

"But if you come this way," Virgil continued, letting one of the doors swivel open, "It should be a straight shot right to me. A few hours, no more."

Wheatley nodded. He was still less than happy with the situation, but the sooner they got going the sooner Virgil would be out of there. He quirked his head at Mel. "Okay, let's get going, then."

But still, even as he walked, the memories still rang in his head:

"_You're the moron they built to make me an idiot!"_

"_Well how about now? Now who's a moron? Could a moron… punch… you… into… this… pit?! Huh!? Could a moron do that?!"_

Wheatley winced and pushed the thought away, shooting an anxious glare at the ceiling. They needed to get Virgil out of there before it was too late.

**()-()**

**These tests were difficult, Virgil winced. They weren't the hardest in the facility, but now he regretted making such trying chambers. It had been fun at the time, something to release him from the boredom of constant maintenance and to get him away from the prattle of idiot cores. He had built them with the scant hope that a stray testing bot would see them and try them out. Nobody had of course, and so the dream died. He had never really expected to have a test subject of his own, much less an olympian.**

**But now, here she was, better than he expected, going through chamber after chamber. Virgil hadn't expected much of Mel at the beginning, if he was honest. A half-dead thousand-year-old olympian in a coma found in a vitrified test shaft? He was surprised she had even been able to sit upright!**

**But she had exceeded expectations, running through test after test with a determined expression on her face, supplied with a seemingly endless stream of energy, ready to take on all of Aperture if necessary.**

**It was incredible to watch her. True, sometimes it irked him when the solution was glaringly simple (when you knew the answer) and he couldn't tell her, but watching her face as the components clicked into place was an honor. He could almost smell the smoke coming out of her ears as her brain went into overtime. **

**And besides the test difficulty was the ever-present voice. Not only did she have to solve the tests, but constant rumbles and updates by that annoying mystery voice reminded her that she was on a timer. One minute longer, a single wrong step… how long would it take until 'barely enough time' become 'too late'?**

**Virgil tried to keep the thing off their tail for as long as possible. Wi-Fi only did so much, but he used all his skills to keep the thing at bay. Mel might not see it, but it was a constant battle back there where the only weapons provided were computer code, brains, and parts of the facility that Virgil could use to his advantage to stem the slowly rising tide of toxic waste that would wipe them all off the face of the earth.**

**Virgil wondered if he would be helping Mel like this if they didn't have the threat of imminent death behind them. Well, he had promised to get her out if she saved him from the junkyard, so that was something, but beyond that was something else. He liked her determination, her spirit. She might have a screw or two loose in there, and heaven knows she wasn't as brilliant as he was, but he somehow felt responsible for her. Humans were soft-bodied little things – one stray bullet from a turret could have them bleeding their life away on the ground – and he felt protective of his. She wasn't a bad sort, his olympian, even if she did feel the need to unnecessarily provoke him by doing stupid things and not opening doors that were quite simple to open. They were a team, now, bound by fate – if you believed in such things. **

**She didn't leave him to the junkyard. He wouldn't leave her to her fate. That was the way it would run. Consequences? Hah. He would chance them.**

**Oh, how he hoped he was doing the right thing…**

**()-()**

Jack woke up cold. He reached for where Chell had been the night before and found the ground still warm. Opening his eyes, he found the product of his search sitting bolt upright, staring with fixed eyes at the opening to the den where they still lay. "Chell?" he mumbled, still not fully awake.

"Something's wrong," she said, voice clipped. Her eyes never wavered from the exit. "We slept for far too long. The robots never woke us up."

With that, she stood and made her way to the crack, peering through. Jack winked several times, trying to blink away the morning fuzzies from his vision. In a moment Chell was back, looking anxious. "They're gone," she said, picking up her portal gun and holding Jack's out to him.

"Huh? Who's gone?"

"The robots. Both of them." Chell gave up and dumped Jack's portal gun on his lap, walking out into the main testing chamber.

"Gone?" Jack's bleary mind finally registered and he stumbled after Chell. "How? When?"

"Sometime when we slept."

"But… I gave them the command," said Jack, trying to puzzle out the conundrum. "They're not able to disobey me, are they?"

"Technically not."

"So something must have gone wrong," reasoned Jack, looking about as if the robots might simply have wandered off. "Either with their programming, or something took them, or…"

"Or something gave them a different order," finished Chell. She clenched her jaw, wishing that she had not – yet again – placed her trust in robots. When would she learn? Why had she not taken more caution when there was a mysterious signal going through the facility? Who knew what it meant?

"What should we do?" asked Jack, turning to the expert.

Chell took a deep breath, considering her options. "We finish the testing track," she said. "If we don't find Wheatley near here, we take an elevator to the surface." She ran her tongue over her dry lips and looked at Jack for reassurance.

"Alright," said Jack. "That's just what we'll do."

Chell pinched her lips together and nodded firmly. With a flash of her ponytail, she twisted around and began to solve the test. Jack worked beside her. Methodically they began solving test chambers, working their way through the facility, hoping against hope that everything would resolve itself. Somehow. Someway.

**()-()**

Mel and Wheatley picked their way through Aperture's framework, their Long-Fall Boots clanging as they stepped on the rickety catwalk, Wheatley first, holding the portal gun, then Mel. Virgil kept up a running commentary on what he was doing and where they were going, annoying Wheatley dreadfully. Alright, alright, okay, he knew that Virgil was now all high-and-mighty omnipotent, now. All hail the Virgil. But… did he have to rub it in like that?! Why did he have to tell them every time he repaired a section of Aperture to one-hundred and twenty percent its original functionality? Whatever! Who cared! Not Wheatley, that was for certain.

But as they continued, Wheatley realized that Virgil wasn't chatting just for the sake of bragging. His tone, after an hour or so of traveling, became rather strained and the interludes between subjects stalled longer and longer. Wheatley started to get nervous as he realized what this could imply. He began chatting back, trying to keep loose ends from dragging out too long. But try as he might, Virgil became less and less talkative.

"Um… okay," Virgil said at last after a few dire seconds of silence, "here's the thing. There's this one test chamber that's in the way of your route to me. I would move it out of the way, but the castors have jammed up. It would take way too long to fix it, so… would you mind terribly if you would just… go through the test chamber?"

The door swiveled open invitingly and Mel unsuspectingly walked forward. Wheatley's heart jumped into his mouth and he pulled her back. "Nonononono," he chuckled nervously. "You don't want to do that, mate. Don't- don't give in. Not now."

"Listen, Wheatley," Virgil pleaded, "I've tried, okay? But this thing's stronger than I thought. It's driving me crazy. It's just a little test chamber, only one, and then you're on your way again."

"That's how it starts," Wheatley grated between his teeth with a look askance at Mel, who was looking confused. "Don't you see? That's – if you start it now, it's not going to stop. Just- just trust me on this, you don't want us to do that for you."

"If I don't do what it wants me to do, it'll drive me crazy," implored Virgil, sounding close to frantic. "I know I'm supposed to be stronger than this, but… It's just one test. Just one. Okay? That'll tide me over for a while, keep this… this Urge from setting in!"

"That's not how it works," Wheatley insisted. He hoisted the portal gun. "C'mon, Mel. We're not going that way."

"Fine." Virgil's tone turned stiff. "This is the shortest way over. Every other way will add hours to your journey, through which I will be subjected to the hardest torture since you wouldn't solve one measly little test for me. But whatever. Fine. Find your own way."

Mel tugged on Wheatley's battered shirt sleeve imploringly. 'We can't waste time,' she signed. 'What's wrong with the test?'

Wheatley glanced up at the monitor that had popped up over the test chamber's entrance. Virgil looked down at him, daring him to tell her the truth. He stammered, "Uh… Mel, I just…"

'It's just one test,' Mel added, brows creased, apparently wondering why he was so reluctant when they had solved tests just like this one together not so long ago before.

Wheatley faltered, caught between his own pride, his self-preservation, and conflicting memories. Finally he sighed. "Okay, alright, okay," he said, defeated at last. "We'll go through this way. But quickly."

"Thank you," huffed Virgil.

"Just shut up," muttered Wheatley at Virgil, and then to Mel, "Let's get this over with. Where do you want the portals?"

With Mel's assistance, the portals were put in their proper places. Virgil's watching eye followed their every movement. _Hungrily_, Wheatley thought. _That was the word for it._

The test was not a difficult one, and Mel mimed the final motion that would send the Weighted Storage Cube onto the button. Wheatley hesitated before he pulled the trigger, dread collecting in his gut. He looked up at Virgil's annunciated eye, but Virgil did not make a movement. Hissing in air between his teeth, Wheatley shot the portal into its place. The cube dropped onto the button.

The chime of the exit opening was overshadowed by Virgil's exclamation of surprise, which merged into a sound of drawn-out delight, which subsided into a low moan of pleasure. "AHH-OHHhhhhhhhaaaaaaa…." Virgil shouted/said/drawled. On the screen, they could see his eye closed in absolute bliss. It sounded like he was laughing between panting breaths, still rolling to the side a little bit.

"I bet that felt good," Wheatley mumbled, portal gun limp in his hands. He could remember getting that feeling the first time, ripe and rich, flooding his circuits. He wanted that again. He wanted it so badly.

"_Button. That's all I'm going to say. Button._

"_Solve it._

"_Solve it!_

"_Come on! Solve it!"_

Wheatley snapped back to the present as he saw Mel looking at him, her eyes questioning. Wheatley jumped guiltily, holding the portal gun tight to his chest. "Okay, we're done, let's get out of here," he said in a rush, heading for the door.

"Wow, that felt… ah, I can't even describe it," Virgil exclaimed, recuperating somewhat as they exited the chamber and continued forward.

"Don't try," Wheatley snapped, keeping his head down and moving as fast as his long legs could walk. Mel was at a half-trot behind him. "Just… no, don't even – try not to think about it, okay? Just… stop right now. Just no."

"But I get it now!" exclaimed Virgil's voice excitedly over the clatter of the catwalk. "I get how intoxicating it is! But I'm fine, now. I can hold over for longer. Thank you… for doing that for me."

Wheatley grumbled something under his breath. The sooner they got to Virgil and got him out of there, the better.


	11. Chapter 11: The Offer

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Offer**

Virgil was silent for some time. Wheatley, for once, was quiet as well, his mind full of fears. Mel did not even attempt to sign a conversation to Wheatley, even though her eyes darted to look at him every so often, questioning his unease.

"Alright," Virgil said at last, breaking his silence. His voice was strained again. "Into this elevator. It'll take you up a few more levels. Closer to me."

"But…?" Wheatley prompted, sensing the unsaid continuation.

"But nothing, okay?" Virgil snapped. "Nothing's wrong, everything's absolutely fine. Just get in the lift, okay?"

"_So you're going to test and I'm going to watch. And everything will be just… fine…"_

_He could see the top of her head rising on the lift, coming into view. She would solve this test for him, and she would do it better than the stupid hopping cubes he invented. Why had he invented those, anyway? He should have been trying to find her! She could solve these tests for him! An unlimited supply of that wonderful Reward supplied by her. He couldn't wait, he could feel it rising…_

Wheatley started. What was wrong with him? His heart was beating with anticipation of the Reward that would never come. He forced himself to calm down, obeying Virgil and walking into the elevator, Mel trailing along behind him. Wheatley leaned against the wall, glaring at the flashing lights that whizzed past them through the glass.

He jumped as Mel placed a gentle hand on his arm. 'What's wrong?' she signed.

Wheatley forced a grin. "Wrong? Nothing! Nothing's wrong, I'm just a bit tired, not sure about the potatoes, might have gotten a worm or two…"

Mel gave him a look.

Wheatley sighed. "Okay, fine. To be honest, I'm not sure if this is going well." He stooped down closer to her and began to mutter softly, "That body he's in is… different. A not good kind of different. It has this… this thing in it that…"

Before he could finish the elevator skidded to a stop and Wheatley's mouth opened wide in outrage. "What?! No no no NO! Virgil!"

He stomped out of the elevator and glared at the ceiling.

"Listen, I know what you're going to say," Virgil started soothingly.

"Never mind what you know!" howled Wheatley, spinning around and taking in the testing track the elevator had taken them to. White panels, buttons, emancipation grills. "I know bloody well what's going on in your mind here, and I'm telling you it's not going to work!"

"This is the fastest way to me," Virgil argued.

"Then we'll take a slower way, but we're not testing for you!"

"It's too late, now." To Wheatley's displeased ears, Virgil sounded almost happy. "That elevator doesn't go up any higher and the only way out is through that door. As you very well know, I can't open the door to solve the test for you. You have to go through it yourself."

"But I – we – don't want to!"

"Who cares?" Virgil barked, the façade falling through. "You're just a simple, stupid little human, and what are humans good for except solving tests?"

"I'm not stupid!" Wheatley's face was red with anger.

Mel put a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were pleading, scared, but also determined. 'We have no choice, now,' she signed. 'We have to do what he says.'

Wheatley gestured to the plaque on the wall displaying the test's number. "One of fourteen, Mel!"

'Then we'd better get started.'

Pointedly not looking at Virgil, Mel took Old Reliable from Wheatley's hands and began solving the test. Wheatley, taking a hint from her, helped in the pushing of buttons and standing on top of buttons and handling of cubes. Soon the test was solved and Virgil was letting out another contented groan of pleasure. Mel stalked toward the exit door.

"Hold- hold on, Mel, listen," Virgil cut himself short to exclaim. "What I said earlier, the whole 'humans good for nothing except solving tests'… I wasn't talking about you. I didn't mean it."

"Then why did you say it?" blurted Wheatley, crossing his arms.

"Like I said, there's this… Urge… inside me that needs me to get testing. I'm sorry if what I say insults you while you're…"

"Then let us go!" exclaimed Wheatley, flailing his arms wildly. "Now! While you still have the chance!"

"I can't do that," Virgil said.

"Because you're not in control anymore."

"I didn't… I didn't say that," Virgil stammered.

"You as well as said it." Wheatley glared at the screen, his hands balled into fists. "If you can't let us go now, how- how do you think you're going to let us go later? When we come to take you out of there? You won't be able to do it."

Virgil visibly faltered. "I… ah… I'm going to have to think on that," he said and the monitor dissolved into static.

Wheatley wanted to kick something really, really hard. "Come on, Mel," he said, stomping toward the exit.

'What is wrong with him?' Mel asked, handing Old Reliable back to Wheatley.

"Just having trouble coping with the new System he's in, that's all." Wheatley and Mel got into the elevator, which began to glide smoothly upward. "I don't think there's much we can do at this point."

'He's different,' Mel signed, her eyes downturned. 'He didn't do this to me before.'

"Yes, well, there's the system for you. GLaDOS' big ol' body has some surprises in it still, even if she is dead and gone." Wheatley leaned his forehead against the glass, his mind still replaying old memories at him.

"_Apparently being civil isn't motivating you, so let's try it Her way, alright? Fatty. Adopted fatty. Fatty-fatty no parents!_

"_RRRGH! It's not enough! If I'm such a moron, why can't you solve a simple test?"_

The elevator coasted to a halt and the two humans disembarked. Virgil's monitor was nowhere to be seen, nor was his voice anywhere to be heard. Mel looked at Wheatley quizzically and he answered with a shrug. "I dunno where he is. Just get solving. We'll get through it all eventually."

Mel gestured where she wanted portals placed and Wheatley obliged, following her around and doing what she signed.

'What's the Urge he talks about?' she questioned halfway through the test.

"Well," Wheatley started uneasily, reluctant to say too much and give himself away, "there's this… this thing in the system, a program that forces the Central Core to test people. It nags at you, gives you this itch, and unless you scratch it by testing someone… it just gets worse and worse."

_But, I tell ya, when I do test… Oh-ho, man alive! Nothing feels better._

"And how would you know that, eh, Wheatley?" Virgil's voice boomed unexpectedly from above. Wheatley jumped.

"I knew you were watching!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger upwards.

"Well, I do need to keep an eye on the two of you," Virgil said. "But I haven't been paying too much attention. I have an idea of what to do to keep everything running smoothly, but… I'll tell you after you finish this test. Go on, keep going. Don't let me stop you." With a 'bleep', the intercom shut off.

"I do not like the sound of that," Wheatley murmured between his teeth. "Keep going, but just… just be careful, okay? Both of us. Careful. That's- that's the key to this."

The chamber was solved without any more interruptions and they got into the elevator. Wheatley's stomach was twisting into knots and he was wishing that he hadn't eaten so many potatoes for breakfast. By the time they got to the next test chamber he felt positively sick.

The test chamber looked the same as any other, Wheatley realized as he glanced around. No mashy spike plates ready to crush them, no scent of neurotoxin in the air. What kind of surprise _was_ this?

"Okay, so I've done some thinking," Virgil started, lifting a monitor out from the wall so they could see him. "And I've decided that the evidence points to the conclusion that… you're right, Wheatley. I've been holding back as best as I can and it's still not enough. I've honestly been trying, but…" he trailed off. "Anyway. This Reward thing is going to give out soon enough, and when it does it's going to get pretty nasty. Or so evidence suggests, anyway. Right, Wheatley?"

"Right," Wheatley suggested uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

"He sure seems to know a lot about this system, doesn't he, Mel?" Virgil prompted, giving a teasing glance as Wheatley jumped about a foot in the air.

"You promised," Wheatley hissed.

"Yes, I did promise. It's not important right now. All you need to know is that it's not going to be a pretty picture when the Reward gives out, and we need to delay it as much as possible."

"So… wait." Wheatley tried to connect the vague pieces. "You're letting us go?"

"Not quite. I'm not letting both of you go because then the Urge would drive me crazy and I might literally rip the facility apart trying to get you back again." Virgil's tone was matter-of-fact, making it seem all the more frightening to Wheatley. "So, letting you both get away is out of the question. But I can let one of you go. Here."

A panel flipped up out of place, giving them both a tantalizing glimpse of Aperture's framework. "Mel," Virgil said. "Go on. Get out of here."

Mel and Wheatley stared in bewilderment at the flipped up panel. Both moved forward, but it slammed shut as soon as they approached. "Sorry, not you, Wheatley," Virgil added. "I need at least one test subject and… sorry, but I like Mel better. And you test slower, so… maybe I can hold onto the Reward for a longer time if you stay and she goes. So, Mel, if you would just… walk over here, I'll flip up the panel again, and you can go off free!"

Wheatley felt a stab of fear. Mel leaving him here? Would she?

"I'll turn off the heat-tracking devices so I can't find you again and then it'll just be me and Wheatley," continued Virgil. "You can find a way to get to me while he stays here to keep me company. Sort of a… divide and conquer thing, if you will . What do you say?"

Mel took a step backwards, grabbing for Wheatley's hand, which had found its way onto her shoulder. She stood in front of him, shaking her head in a decisive 'no'. Her eyes spat fire.

"Mel, what do you think you are doing?" Virgil's voice had become shaky. "The System doesn't want me to let you go, I'm fighting against it just to save you!"

Mel shook her head again. With one hand firmly clasping Wheatley's, she signed defiantly at the screen. Wheatley wet his lips. "She says, 'both of us or… or neither.' That's- that's what she said. But Mel…" Wheatley was feeling a clash of feelings right now. He wanted her to stay with him – he didn't want to be left alone with that maniac core! – but he also felt a conflicting desire to have her safe. Such a desire made him give a half-hearted effort to send her away. "You would be safe out there, like he said."

"Yes, listen to Wheatley," Virgil prompted.

Mel began to shake her head again, but Wheatley continued hastily, "I know, I know, you don't want to leave me. But, you know, I'll be fine. I'll not be safe, no, and… if he slips up I could get crushed to death or he could start yelling and mentally damage me, but… you know, occupational hazards and all that. It's all going to be fine."

Mel's eyes opened wide with the mention of crushing and she took Wheatley's hand in both her own in double possessiveness.

"Of all the moronic things to say," moaned Virgil.

"Hey, I'm not—"

'He is not a moron!' Mel signed savagely at the screen, her face flushing red.

"Mel, come on—" Virgil pleaded in one last attempt, but Mel wasn't listening anymore. She grabbed Wheatley's portal gun, shot one portal beneath the cube dispenser and one on the wall. She pressed the button violently and sent a cube hurtling out of the dispenser, through the portals, and at Virgil's enormous screen on the wall. It smashed, cracks running in a spiderweb pattern across the glass.

Wheatley gaped. First, Mel had called him 'not a moron', which was extremely high praise in his book – well, 'not an idiot', actually, but it translated the same way – and then she had smashed a screen. For him.

Yep. He definitely loved this girl.

Virgil, too, was apparently lost for words. He didn't utter a peep as Mel solved the rest of the test, grabbed Wheatley, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and marched toward the exit.

Wheatley stared at Mel all the ride down. Her face was still flushed as she re-bound her hair, yanking on it with savage movements. 'I'm not leaving you,' she signed when she caught him unabashedly staring.

"Okay, okay, alright," Wheatley stammered, his voice inexplicably high-pitched. "Noted."

He shifted his feet. "Uh… and also… thank you."

Mel smiled and for a moment Wheatley felt like everything might be okay. Then the elevator doors slid open and the feeling faded. Mel sighed through her nose. 'Come on,' she signed, taking the portal gun back again.

Virgil tried pleading again, opening up an even wider exit for Mel, but she did not seem to hear. She walked right past the exit, continuing to solve the test as if nothing was wrong. She kept Wheatley close to her, just in case Virgil would try snatching him away. It impaired her somewhat, having him hovering over her like a gangly spider with personal space issues, but she would rather have that than have him get into trouble.

'Don't listen to him,' she signed to Wheatley whenever he seemed likely to retaliate. 'Just stay close. Keep your mouth shut.'

"Keep close, mouth shut," Wheatley repeated. "Gotcha, okay. Okay. Just two things, not so difficult. I can do this. Keep close. Mouth shut."

But he couldn't do it. Especially not when Virgil began giving 'hints' as to his secret. "Don't you wonder why he knows so much about the System?" Virgil demanded to the suddenly deaf Mel. "Don't you wonder why he calls it an Itch?"

"Shut up!" roared Wheatley, completely forgetting the goals Mel had given him. "Just shut up! Don't say anything!"

"Why are you so touchy about that subject, eh?" inquired Virgil. "If she knew, she wouldn't be protecting you!"

"_I told you not to put these cores on me! But you never listen! Quiet all the time. Judging me! Silently, the worst kind."_

"She would abandon you," growled Virgil.

Another cube sailed out of a portal, cracking the monitor's glass. Virgil gave an exclamation of annoyance as the monitor broke. Mel, who apparently had been listening after all, signed with a quick snap of her fingers, 'Never.'

She pulled Wheatley after her into the elevator.

'You designed the System, didn't you?' she signed once they were safely under way.

"What?" Wheatley asked, genuinely confused.

'That is why you know so much about it,' Mel continued. 'You were one of the scientists that made it, and now you are ashamed because it puts us in such trouble now. I understand.' She gave a reassuring smile, turning away.

Wheatley was caught in an instant conundrum. Sure, this was a quick and easy answer to his 'what do I tell her about my past' problem, but then again it wasn't the truth. Virgil knew the truth and could put her straight in an instant. What if he told her a lie and then Virgil told her the truth? Again that image sprang to mind of Mel against him in betrayal. Would letting her believe what she wanted make things worse in the end? He could hardly believe that it would get him off scot-free, anyway.

Before he could solve this dilemma, the elevator came to a halt and Mel hurried out. Wheatley, still puzzling, followed at a more leisurely pace.

Virgil – ever the master of persistance – flipped up another monitor and tried again. This time his tone was desperate. "Mel, this is our last chance," he begged. If he had been human, he would be on his knees, hands clasped together. That was the semblance he gave. "You're my friend, I want to protect you. I wanted you free. I still do."

Mel glanced back at Wheatley and gestured for him to hurry up and join her.

"Listen, please, listen to me," Virgil pleaded, a catch in his voice. "It's not like you're signing a death warrant for him or anything. You're just splitting up for a while. Look, here's the exit route right here." The panels shifted aside. This testing chamber must have been right next to one of the offices, because Mel could see the gleam of white hallways from inside. "All you have to do is leave him. I promise I'll try to contain myself, I'll try not to do anything crazy. Just… please, Mel."

Mel bit her lip, shifting from foot to foot. Wheatley felt uneasy again. Was she actually considering it?

Mel turned to him and his stomach turned to ice. Oh, God. She actually was considering it.

'Blue Wheat,' she signed, slowly advancing toward him. 'Act like you're scared and confused.'

"Why? What's going on? Mel? Mel?" Wheatley blathered.

'Good. Just like that. You're doing great.'

Mel put her hands on his arms, pushing him gently backwards onto the floor's white portal surface. 'Squeeze gently on one of the triggers,' she instructed. 'Keep acting like I'm going to leave.'

"Are you leaving?" Wheatley insisted. "You're not, are you? No, of course you're not. You said you—you are, aren't you? I understand, of course you are. It… it's the right thing for you to do, leaving and everything."

He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly the shimmering surface of a blue portal was beneath their feet, casting navy shadows onto Mel's face. He wondered if it was safe standing on an unconnected portal like this. He could feel his feet heating up.

"Mel, don't leave me like this," he begged, genuinely concerned. Why did she keep signing at him? Why was her face so tense?

Mel gently took the portal gun out of his reach. 'Be ready,' she signed.

"Ready?" he asked, confused. "Ready for—"

"No!" shouted Virgil as Mel shot a portal through his offered gap. The panels snapped closed, but Mel and Wheatley were already on the other side, running for dear life through Aperture's back offices.

"You really had me going there," laughed Wheatley, sprinting behind her. "For a moment I thought, you know, 'what if she's actually going to leave me? Would she do that?' and then I thought, 'no, come off it, not Mel. She wouldn't do that to me!' And now look at us! Escaping together, just like you said – both of us or neither. Good job on you, luv!"

Mel, who was still flat-out running, turned to him with a slightly amused expression. 'Love?' she signed.

Wheatley stumbled over his own feet. "No! No, not in that way! It's just a little nickname; called Chell that back when she was little, it doesn't mean anything. What? No, it's just a… it's just for fun. That's all it is. Hey, hey can we slow down now? For a minute? Please?"

Mel obligingly slowed to a halt. Wheatley rested, hands on his knees. They were in one of the computer rooms, all of their screens scrolling orange text. "I think we're safe here," huffed Wheatley, standing upright. Mel walked a few feet away, examining the monitors. "We don't have to worry about him getting to us. Not so long as nobody installed any—"

Wheatley froze. There was a portal surface right there. And it seemed to be installed right into the wall.

The portal surface slammed aside and from beneath it what seemed like a snake's nest of metal cords slithered out, wrapping around Wheatley's arms and legs before he could do anything more than give a yell, pinning him upright against the wall. Mel leaped forward, yanking on the cords, but they only tightened, twining about his head and gagging him securely.

"Don't even try, Mel." Virgil's voice scraped tinny and thin out of the speakers. "I've got him too securely. I told you not to take him with you."

Mel raised her portal gun as if it was a rifle. Her teeth were clenched and Wheatley could hear harsh breaths escaping her nostrils. He tried struggling, but an electric shock made his fingers tingle.

"Shh, quiet, Wheatley," Virgil soothed. "Both of you just stay still and nobody gets hurt. Mel, I've won. You can't get Wheatley back without hurting him, and Wheatley can't get out without you leaving. So… leave. It's as simple as that."

Mel shook her head again.

Virgil sighed. "Why do you always have to be so difficult about things, Mel? I try to be a good guide, but… alright. Have it your way. I didn't want to have to do this, but you have left me no other choice. Turn around and look at the monitor behind you."

Mel simply glared.

"I'm not going to do anything with Wheatley, I swear," Virgil said. "Just… turn around and look. Please?"

Slowly, as if waiting for a trick, Mel obeyed.

The monitor screen flickered, the words 'camera footage' and then a string of numbers spiraling past scrolling across the screen. Then the footage started and Wheatley gave a muffled yelp. He could see the screen over Mel's shoulder and didn't like what he saw. It was the Core Transfer.

He could see himself looking pitifully small, jammed into the socket beneath GLaDOS, urging Chell on. He could hear every word, even the slap as Chell was smacked backward across the room as GLaDOS flipped up the panels to protect the stalemate button.

Mel glanced back at him as if questioning that the core on the screen was him in the past. Wheatley tried to motion to her with his eyes, pleading with her to turn away, but she did not. Her eyes were glued to the screen.

"Here I go!" the Core Wheatley on the screen yelled triumphantly. "Wait a minute, I just thought of something. What if this hurts? What if this reaaaally hurts? Oh, I didn't think of that."

"Oh, it will," GLaDOS' limp form responded bitterly. "Believe me it will."

Mel flinched as Wheatley shouted in pain and tensed as GLaDOS screamed. But as Wheatley rose, triumphantly embedded into GLaDOS' old body, Wheatley could tell that she was smiling. He closed his eyes in agony. He didn't want to go through this. Not again.

"_Giant robot. Massive. It's not just me, right? I am bloody massive, aren't I?"_

Chell got into the elevator. She did look very small next to him, even on camera. So it wasn't just him.

_Very tiny and insignificant._

_Stop it, stop it_, he thought to himself as the elevator on the screen began to rise. If Virgil had wanted to torture him, he could think of nothing worse than being forced to relive these memories. In front of Mel. That upped the torture quality to an eleven. _Make it stop,_ he begged in his mind. _Make it stop before…_

He was laughing. The Core Wheatley was laughing a completely mirthless laugh, his core opening up like a peacock puffing out its plumage. Wheatley could see Chell's smile fade, then flicker out completely. He moaned, the wires wrapped around his mouth muffling the sound somewhat. If there was any time in the past he wished to unlive, this was it.

"Actually, why do we have to leave right now?"

Wheatley could see Mel tense, lean forward, completely enraptured by what she was seeing. Wheatley tried to struggle, to get to her, to explain, but Virgil zapped him again.

Core Wheatley turned GLaDOS into a potato.

Punched Her and Chell down a pit.

Started testing.

Couldn't stop.

Shouted.

Insulted.

Tried to murder Chell.

Wheatley watched in horror as Mel's whole body tensed, then began to shake. He should have told her. He should have told her before, not let her find out in this way! Why didn't he tell her?

He began struggling in earnest when he began throwing bombs at Chell. He didn't care if the shocks hurt, he had to get to Mel. He had to explain, to say that he was sorry, that all that she saw was in the past. It was gone. He needed to tell her—

"Part five: booby trap the stalemate button!"

He could see Chell skidding across the floor, rolling, trailing blood. Wheatley felt a surge of joy that his plan worked, horribly conflicted with his absolute dismay that he once had done such a thing, and wondering at himself for feeling elated. He surged forward one last desperate time, yanking the cords from his arm, reaching out to touch Mel's arm.

The second he made contact she stumbled away, one arm flung up above her head, shielding her face. She fell on the ground, the portal gun bouncing out of reach. Mel scrambled to her feet, not looking at Wheatley apart from one terrified glance, and ran away. Wheatley could hear her retreating footsteps growing fainter in the corridor, and fainter, and dying out completely.

She was gone.

The door closed shut behind her.

"Turning off all tracking devices," the automated announcer said in the silence.

The rest of the cords fell away from Wheatley and he sank to his knees, too overwhelmed with guilt to do anything but cry.

"There," said Virgil's voice. "It's done."

**()-()**

Mel couldn't do anything other than run. Tears pierced her eyes and she couldn't see a thing. Her throat hurt and her ears rang with what she had just experienced. She tripped and fell, skinning her knees on the floor. She curled up into a ball, shaking with unheard sobs. She was frightened, but not for the reason Wheatley would have thought.

Mel had been startled when she saw Wheatley on the screen, even finding it a bit amusing that that metal ball had contained the mind of the man standing behind her. But it was very obviously him, even down to the quirks and mannerisms. Seeing him assume control of the facility was surprising. She searched her brain, trying to remember: had he ever said anything about this incident to her?

Then it became obvious why he had not.

As the video continued, Mel's amusement faded and fear set in. The girl in the video – it must have been Chell – looked confused and angry as she was accused of selfishness, held prisoner in the very container which could have led to her escape. Mel was confused as well. Wheatley had always acted like he and Chell were the best of friends. How could this have happened?

Then he started name-calling. And shouting. It was a side of Wheatley Mel had never seen before, vengeful and mean. Chell's face in the video solidified into an unmoving mask, even as the Core Wheatley hammered on the top of the elevator, plunging her into the abyss below. Mel shuddered even thinking about it.

But the worst was yet to come. Along with Core Wheatley's fevered words came snatches of memory from her past, a voice that mingled with Wheatley's insane rants as he forced Chell to do his bidding. That voice, the same one the Rainbow Core had assumed – smooth, drawling, and nasal with a deep laugh – overshadowed everything else, becoming stronger as Mel drifted off into the past.

"_Lookin' fine there, gorgeous."_

"_You did just dandy there, Melody."_

"_Kiss me, Mel."_

And then, as Core Wheatley's tests became more difficult and his words became crueler, so did her memories. She could feel blows raining down on her face and smell the stale scent of alcohol.

"_Talk, Melody. Why don't you talk?"_

"_You know what you are? Nothing! All attitude and no work."_

"_Sing, little Melody. Why don't you sing?"_

Mel had cringed down on herself, hardly paying attention to the video anymore.

"_What, don't you love me anymore, Mel?"_

_Rough hands around her wrists._

"_Kiss me, Mel. Kiss me."_

And then a hand had snatched at her arm. Mel didn't have enough time to recognize where she was. Fear controlled her movements as she slapped the hand aside, falling to the ground, then running to get away. It was only now that she realized that she had lashed out and run away from Wheatley. The one she had promised not to leave.

Now that the fear was gone, Mel got up off the floor, wiping away tears, but more replaced them. What should she do? She had seen the fear in Wheatley's eyes – the footage from the cameras was obviously something he had not wanted her to see. Had he really been that cruel to Chell? Had he killed her? Had he been playing Mel all along, pretending that Chell was still alive? Could he possibly have been so damaged by guilt that he was trying to pretend, forcing himself to believe that none of that had happened?

Still sniffling, Mel walked back down the corridor, back the way she had come, but the door had locked behind her. She pushed against it for a while, but it was no use. Feeling defeated and confused, Mel turned away from the door, rubbing her friction-burned palms against one another and clenching her teeth against the pain. She started walking back along the corridor in a dazed sort of way. Leave? Was that all that she could do? Even if Wheatley was a… a murderer… did he really deserve to be left in Virgil's keeping?

Mel, preoccupied by her thoughts, got to the elevator before she knew it. She stopped before it in unease, shifting from foot to foot, rather like the way Wheatley did when he was uncomfortable. What should she do? Where would she go after this?

The noise of one of the many doors leading to this elevator swiveling open made her start and turn around. She was met with a most unexpected sight indeed.

Two humans. One, a woman dressed in a light blue Aperture jumpsuit carrying a portal gun. The other a man with auburn hair, also dressed in an Aperture jumpsuit, but this one orange. They both looked as surprised to see her as she was to see them. The man Mel did not recognize, but the woman she did.

Dark hair, pale skin, with a definite Asian quality about her nose and full lips. That look in her intense gray eyes as if she were calculating the most efficient way to bring you to the ground. She was a little shorter in person than Mel had thought, but it didn't matter. This was Chell. She had to be. And she was alive.

Mel threw herself forward before anybody knew what was happening. She heard the man make a surprised squawk as she wrapped her arms around the smaller woman's shoulders, crying again just because she was so relieved to see her so alive and well. Wheatley was not a murderer. He was not what Virgil made him out to be. Chell was his friend, like he had said.

Still smiling like a maniac, Mel let go and stepped back, brushing her hair out of her face and laughing a little through her tears at the stunned looks on their faces.

The man looked at Chell as if questioning Mel's sudden appearance, but Chell looked just as astonished. After a few seconds of confused silence, the man stepped forward. "Who are you?" he asked.

Mel stood up straight. 'My name is Melody Lance,' she signed. 'I am a friend of Blue Wheat.'

She felt better. She felt downright triumphant as the man and Chell looked at each other. Just in those two sentences she had stated her entire being and her purpose here. The man stepped forward to talk to her.

"Ma'am," he said gently, "we can't understand your gestures."

Mel felt like an idiot. She had taken Wheatley's abilities for granted for too long. Rather sheepishly she took out her notebook again and scribbled a translation, but with 'Wheatley' as a substitute for 'Blue Wheat'.

The man looked down at the paper, and then up again with wide eyes. "You've seen Wheatley?" he asked.

Mel nodded.

"Where is he?"

It was almost unnerving to see Chell speak, she who had been silent on the footage, seemingly mute like Mel, now coming to life with a voice of her own. Her voice was soft, dry, and gone in a heartbeat so as to be thought just a figment of the imagination. Mel shook off her surprise and scribbled a single word, ripping the page from the book and handing it to Chell.

_Taken_, it said.

Chell's face blanched of all color as she and the man examined the note. Mel wasted no time writing down the rest of her story, ripping out a page as soon as she filled it, and watching with an anxious face as her two readers poured over the final installation.

"Chell?" the man asked quietly after the last word had been read. "What do we do?"

Chell's mouth tightened and Mel could again see that same penetrating look she had before solving puzzles with seeming ease. The same look she had assumed just before confronting Wheatley, circling around him, searching for a chink in his armor.

"We need to call Doug," Chell said, looking up at the man. "This will be against technology and I don't know enough to do it on my own."

The man nodded. "Good call."

Chell stuck a hand into the jumpsuit's pocket and grasped what seemed to be a small black cube with a button on one side. She pressed the button down twice, nodded, stuck it back in her pocket, and motioned to Mel.

"Let's get to the surface," she said. "Doug will meet us there."

All three of them got in the elevator, which slowly, then with increasing swiftness, began to rise.

**()-()**

Doug sat next to Caroline, listening to the breath softly wheeze in and out of her lungs, controlled by a pressure pump next to the hospital bed. His hand had crept up to meet hers, cupping her cold fingers in his warm palm. He hadn't planned it that way, but there it was. It was better this way, he told himself. That way she could feel his presence. That she wasn't abandoned. But it was for himself, too, that he held her hand.

"Stay strong, Caroline," he whispered. He took a look at his watch, mentally translating the military time to standard. He sighed. Almost twenty-one hours had passed since Caroline's collapse, and since Wheatley had gone missing. He had stayed with Caroline all night long, but that didn't mean that he wasn't longing to hear from Chell. Had she found Wheatley yet? How could he know if she was safe?

He felt a buzz from his pocket and jerked upright from his slumped position. Chell had pressed the button! Stephen was safe! That meant everything was going to be just—

_Buzz._

Doug froze. Chell had pressed the button twice. His mind was immediately awhirl with every possibility, alert for danger. He needed to go back to the facility. They needed him!

But Caroline…

"I'm sorry," he whispered, rising from his seat and giving Caroline's hand a double-handed press. "I need to go help Chell. You heal, stay strong. Please."

Doug bit his lip. He had never been good with audible words. The pen or the paintbrush had always been there for the things he could not say, but what good were those to a woman whose eyes were closed? If he could transmit a picture to her mind at this moment, it would be one pleading for hope. One with a plain full of yellow wheat, the sky painted with rainbow colors, the sun just beginning to rise, just as it had been when they had escaped that facility.

He wished he had the words to express what he could say in pictures.

With one last tender press, Doug released Caroline's hand. As he walked out the door, he struggled to focus on the task at hand, putting aside his worries until later when he would have solid facts to combat them with. All he knew was that there was danger at the facility and that he was needed to help.

For a split instant, Doug wished that the Companion Cube was with him again. That guiding voice it always spoke with, always seeming so clear among the chaos… did he really wish his disease to return?

Then he remembered the horrible images that had plagued him, the confusion when reality was distorted, and he shuddered. No. Not even for Cube to speak again would he wish to return to such madness. This next danger he would have to face on his own with a clear mind. Alone, if need be.

**()-()**

**Mel wondered how long she had been testing. It felt like days. She wondered if it actually had been days or if that was only the way it felt. She wanted to rest, but she didn't dare. Not with the relentless voice of their unseen opponent humming out orders that would cause their demise. Not with Virgil so desperately hacking the system, fighting to keep her alive. **

**Mel sighed and hefted her portal gun again. Just a little longer, she told her aching legs. A little farther.**

**Even though she understood less than half of the technical terms Virgil was saying – having no idea what on earth a 'firewall' was, or how a 'biological tracker' worked – Mel could understand just by his tone whether Virgil was upset, – "Come on, wi-fi! Don't fail me now!" – pleased, – "Rerouting the elevator worked!" – or proud – "Well, with those servos gone, I think he'll have a much harder time tracking our movements."**

**And she knew that he was trying his hardest to keep her alive. At any point could Virgil have simply said, "Well, that didn't work. Hope you can make it by yourself from here on out." But he didn't. Not even once did he give up on her. Even if he was inclined to snap at some points, his trust in her never wavered. Mel found that reassuring. She didn't know enough about herself to have full confidence in her abilities, but Virgil seemed to genuinely trust her. In a mutual exchange, she trusted him back.**

"**So," Virgil's voice said once he had gotten her safely out of that testing track and away from the probing scans, "I was thinking: if this computer has scanners searching for biological substances, maybe there could be some… interference?" His suggestive tone made Mel look up, puzzling over what he meant. She still had no clue as to what a biological tracker was. "You know, with things like plants?" Virgil added.**

**Mel thought about this. If a biological tracker was a method of searching, like a man looking for a green penny, it would be much harder to find if you dropped the penny in a sea of grass. Yes, she thought she was getting the hang of this.**

"**There's an overgrown testing track across the facility that hasn't been converted yet," Virgil continued. "If we can get there, I think we can confuse it!"**

**Mel nodded thoughtfully and went through another portal, pushing a button to summon a lift. **

"**Alright, listen," Virgil started again, in a tone like a coach giving his team a rundown. "I was able to hack into that system and run a basic diagnostic before I got booted. The computer is known as the Aperture Employee Guardian and Intrusion System, or AEGIS for short. It looks to be a security mainframe trying to protect the scientists logged into its system. It hasn't been turned on in… decades."**

**To her surprise, Mel found she could understand what Virgil was saying – for once. A computer, maybe one like Virgil, that was used to protect the employees. And a name. AEGIS. For some reason, knowing the name of the thing hounding them made her fear diminish somewhat. It was still trying to kill them, but somehow knowing what to call the thing made her feel a little better.**

"**Maybe that's why it's after us," mused Virgil, "and… whatever that last threat is. Maybe it thinks we killed the scientists."**

**Mel's mind turned to the final threat. Two mechanical, one biological, AEGIS had said. Mel was the biological and Virgil one of the mechanical… but what was the other? She wished she was able to communicate with Virgil. Then maybe she could have some questions answered. What had killed the scientists? When? How?**

**Virgil led her through some more of Background Aperture and then back inside a testing chamber. AEGIS, apparently still pertaining some of its old scanning skills, opened a trap close by, but was unable to make it effective.**

"**You dodged a bullet on that one," gasped Virgil, immediately turning snippy. "I told you to be **_**careful**_**!"**

_**How much more careful can I be? **_**Mel thought back rebelliously, taking her annoyance like baggage through the test chamber.**

"**Scans indicate target in elevator shaft," AEGIS' raspy voice murmured. "Activating trap elevator."**

"**Ha!" Virgil guffawed as the elevator coasted to a stop and innocently opened up its doors. "It thinks you're going to use the elevator?"**

**Mel, still sore from Virgil's earlier remarks, stepped just far enough into the elevator to be unwise. **

"**No! No! Nonononono!" Virgil yelped as Mel rested her arm teasingly against the inside glass of the elevator, still tensed to move out as soon as the doors would begin to close. "Wh-what are you doing?! It's going to kill you!"**

**Virgil sounded so genuinely panicked that Mel got out again, feeling ashamed of her foolish prank.**

**Virgil seemed to calm down as Mel continued, guiding her through the uncompleted test chambers to the real elevator which he would reroute to the overgrown testing track.**

"**So, I was right," Virgil crowed as the elevator bearing Mel emerged into a vine-ridden area, grungy and falling to pieces in some places. "When the test subject destroyed… Her… this whole place fell into disrepair. I don't exactly know if everything is working properly anymore, but we don't have a choice."**

"**Error, error," AEGIS ground out. "Tracking on target failed. Heavy organic interference."**

"**Huh; it worked," Virgil pointed out. "It's blind here."**

**After a quick bit of action involving the elevator coming a few scant inches away from a metal beam blocking the way, Virgil forced Mel to get out early. The elevator plummeted a second later and Mel, feeling a bit shaky, continued along the catwalk, through a barely functioning door, and up some dilapidated stairs.**

"**Ooh, these are the old offices I was talking about before," said Virgil as Mel opened a push-door and made her way through a dusty hallway. "The humans left these behind when She gassed them with neurotoxin. Because this is an abandoned track, it's no longer connected to the rest of the computer systems. AEGIS shouldn't be able to lock us out here. These computers should contain a lot of useful information for us."**

**Mel stared around the old computer room in awe. It had once been an amazing place, she could tell. Now, though, neglect, disuse, and the enhanced plant growth had turned this place into something of a jungle. **

**To her surprise, Virgil – live and in person – came skidding out on his management rail, his eye fixed on her. If Mel didn't know any better, she would have said he was smiling.**

"**Alright," Virgil said with a nod, "time to start hacking into these systems."**

**Mel returned his nod and leaned against the wall, rolling her shoulders and enjoying a brief moment of calm as Virgil began guessing passwords. After some time, however, when Virgil's guesses became increasingly agitated, Mel decided she should probably help the poor core out and press the large, helpful-looking red button by the side of the door which read 'Admin Override'. The door immediately came open.**

"**Did you just… override the admin controls?" Virgil asked, eye squinted nearly shut.**

**Mel shrugged.**

"**Ah…" Virgil seemed unable to decide how to cope with this. "Anyway, I- I think there's some info here about AEGIS. I'll keep working, long as you keep going. So, uh… get- get back to the testing track and get started."**

**Mel turned away with a simple roll of her eyes. When was this silly core going to learn that she was just as good as he was?**

**Maybe never, she decided. But that was the way life went. She knew the truth even if he never would admit it. They made a pretty good team, and not just because she was the muscle. She made pretty good brains as well.**


	12. Chapter 12: The Torment

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Torment**

"Nothing. I- I felt nothing that time. Something's gone wrong!" Virgil spouted, his overblown eye on the monitor darting anxiously.

"Nothing's gone wrong," Wheatley explained wearily, holding his portal gun so that it just grazed the ground. He scuffed toward the exit. "I told you, it's the way it's programmed to go."

So, the euphoria had finally run out, had it? Wheatley knew it would some time or another. It had held out longer than he had expected, if he was honest, persisting through Wheatley's first five test chambers.

They were really easy ones, admittedly, not even proper beginner test chambers, but Wheatley – as Virgil consistently reminded him – did not exactly excel at solving tests. Even the ones programmed with several different solutions made Wheatley waste time goggling with his mouth agape.

Virgil said he didn't care how much time Wheatley took – it was all time spent fighting the Urge, he said. Making himself stronger, building himself up against it. But Wheatley knew it wasn't working. Virgil was practically squirming by the time Wheatley finally stumbled across the answer to the test by dumb luck. The Reward was all that kept him from tearing Wheatley apart by the time the next test began.

And now the Reward was gone.

Wheatley knew he was in trouble.

"Okay, what if," Virgil panted, "what if there were multiple ways to solve that chamber… and- and you just happened to pick the wrong one?"

Wheatley pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes. "I'm telling you," he started softly, then ended in a roar, "_I solved it. The right way!_ And I'm also telling you that I used that excuse before on Chell and it's _not my fault!_"

It had been some time since Virgil's cables had picked Wheatley up sobbing from the floor and gently pushed Old Reliable into his hands, escorting him back into the testing track. Wheatley had been inconsolable at that point, angry at Virgil for betraying his trust, and angry also at himself for not telling Mel the truth when he had the chance. Virgil just wanted him to buckle down and get to testing, explaining again and again how he wanted Mel safe and he didn't care if Wheatley's feelings stood in the way of that.

Now their sentiments were reversed. Virgil was the loud, angry one, and Wheatley – although certainly not quiet – was taking everything more in his stride. He knew how things would go. He was determined to take things the way Chell would: calmly, silently, with swift bouts of revenge. A resolve which lasted all of two minutes, broken instantly when Virgil happened to mention that he, at least, had gotten _his_ human out of the testing arena and Wheatley hadn't.

So the battle began. It was a battle of endurance where the only weapons to be grasped were harmful words and – in Wheatley's case – time used up in arguments instead of spent toward gaining the Reward at the end. But this weapon, with the loss of the Reward, had become a deceitful one which might turn in on himself at any moment. Now he was afraid to use it.

New elevator, new test. Wheatley twirled around in circles for a minute, trying to figure out how to solve the chamber without any help, failed, and resorted to pressing random buttons, hoping it would open something important. Like the door.

"You literally just solved this chamber!" Virgil groaned.

"Well, sorry if I can't remember every test chamber you throw at me," Wheatley snarled. "They all blend together for me! It's not like- not like I can remember every test chamber with a box that comes my way, or every one with a button! All of them have boxes, all of them have buttons! It's not like I can remember where all of them go or where to put them sequentially!"

"Well, you should," snapped Virgil. "Mel could have solved these test chambers a hundred times over by now."

"Well, maybe you should have kept her, then!"

"Maybe I should have!"

Then Virgil stopped, shaking his core in a little 'no' gesture. "No, no, I… I- I let her go. That- that's the right thing to do. W… Wasn't it?" For a moment he looked confused, doubting himself.

"No," Wheatley agreed quietly, using his portals to coat the entire floor in Repulsion Gel. "You shouldn't have kept her here. It- It wouldn't be decent. Or… or anything. She deserved to go free, really."

"Well, then." Virgil was back to his controlling self again. "So long as there are no more arguments…"

"Hold on, who said there are no more arguments?" Wheatley bounced up and down on the Repulsion Gel without any real idea where he was trying to get to. "I still say that the method that you used to shoo Mel away was completely beyond the limits of basic morality! You promised me you wouldn't say anything to her!"

"And you selfishly hid behind her when I was trying to get her to safety!" Virgil countered hotly. "Don't you get it? You try and act like since you're human now you're different from that selfish little core who took over the facility, but you're not! You're not different, you'll never be different, you'll always be the self-absorbed little moron and nothing else!"

"That's not true!" bellowed Wheatley, knocking down a box from a high platform and crouching to stop his bounce. The box flipped merrily around the room, unnoticed by the enraged human within. "I've changed – I really have! I've—"

"_Oh boy, here it comes…"_

_He felt a charge of barely contained excitement growing. The box was floating closer to the button. Soon it would hit. Soon he would feel it. Soon…_

_The box hit._

"_Aaaargh..."_

_But wait… where was that feeling?_

"_Huh, disappointing."_

Wheatley was breathing hard, the feeling of bereavement, like a popped balloon, sinking into his gut. He looked up and found that Virgil was looking at him, eye narrowed. Wheatley reddened and looked down, shuffling his feet.

"What… was that?" Virgil demanded.

"S'… s' nothing," Wheatley muttered, walking away.

"Nothing?" echoed Virgil, tone disbelieving.

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely nothing. Nothing you have to concern yourself about."

The box, which had been bouncing around the blue coated floor with absolute abandon, finally came to a halt on the button, which signaled to the door, causing it to slide open. Virgil never even twitched. Wheatley hastened through the door and took the elevator down to the next level, never looking back at the monitor.

"Hmm," Virgil murmured to himself after Wheatley had departed. The panels in his room flipped themselves over in a carefully calculated, yet smooth stream of motion. Still keeping an eye on Wheatley as he entered the next chamber, Virgil began scanning through the newer video files. What the moron had just gone through wasn't nothing and he knew it. They both knew it.

Ah, here they were. Chell, Caroline, Rattmann, and Wheatley, all together. How sweet. Virgil absorbed the tape with interest, watching it at top speed and retaining all the information. That was another interesting thing about the body he was in: easy learning. You could read a book in a second flat, provided the pages flipped quickly enough, or watch a movie on highest speed and still be able to quote it from memory.

That didn't mean he couldn't multitask. From another camera he watched Wheatley emerge from the elevator and start in on the next test.

"You know why I… aggravate you, don't you?" Virgil asked conversationally, still watching the tapes, but keeping half an eye on Wheatley at the same time.

"Because you don't like me?" Virgil heard the tiny human stop to ask, an annoyed expression on his small face.

"Well, yes, but not just that." Virgil rocked lazily. "You must have noticed it as well when you were in here."

Wheatley gave a snort, but Virgil wasn't done.

"You feel better when you're being mean at someone else. It… it doesn't quite assuage the Urge, but it does limit its power. And I think I found out the reason."

Now the tiny human was shooting portals at the walls in a random order. How irritating.

"When I shout at you, I'm testing in a way. I'm testing your endurance, your ability to communicate when blood pressure is high, and basically everything else in between!" Virgil watched as Wheatley processed this, assessing his expressions. He had stopped testing again. It seemed he couldn't test and think at the same time. Drat him. Virgil was immensely needled by this and couldn't help adding as a parting jab, "So, all the time you were shouting at Chell, you were really just testing her by another method than the traditional one."

He could see the human's face turn red as he was triggered. Virgil felt a bit better.

"Listen, I didn't know any better," Wheatley yelled up at the monitor, which actually wasn't where the camera was, so it seemed as if Wheatley was yelling at a random object away from him. A funny but unnecessary fact. "I didn't know what the Itch was doing to me, I didn't even think about what I was doing, but you do. You do know and that makes it ten times worse than me!"

"Ten times worse?"

Virgil laughed, then. Not only because of what Wheatley had said, but because he had finished the tape where Rattmann and Chell were carrying Caroline out of the building and he had formed a hypothesis. Now to test that hypothesis.

"Yes," answered Wheatley, looking chagrinned by the laugh. He was holding the portal gun like a teddy bear, both arms wrapped around it. Virgil was surprised that he wasn't singing his hair. He wondered if he sounded a loud noise over the speaker if it would make him jump enough that it would. "Yes, it's- it's a hundred times worse because… because you know better than this. I never did – I just- I just kept doing what I knew how to do: how to take care of me. And you should know better than that, because—"

"Because I am better than you?" Virgil finished.

Wheatley stopped. "I- I didn't say that."

"You might as well have." Virgil picked his words very carefully, working hard to find the trigger. "Because I am better than you. In every way. I was able to get Mel out of here, I was able to make the real sacrifices. And what did you sacrifice?"

There it was. That was the trigger. Virgil smiled inwardly as Wheatley's eyes glazed again and he stooped slightly, lost – for the moment – to this world. Hypothesis validated.

He saw Wheatley recover and turn a pale face upward. "Stop talking," Wheatley muttered. "Just… just stop talking."

Virgil did, letting Wheatley solve the test. The door swiveled open and Virgil felt the now-familiar rush of disappointment and the pinching ache when the Urge was not satiated.

"Oh, and before you go on," Virgil added just as Wheatley cleared the threshold, "I just wanted to say that I'm going to be changing things up a little from now on."

"Oh, really?" Wheatley's form went tense, much to Virgil's amusement. "How- how are you going to do that, exactly?"

"I'll tell you more about it when you see it," Virgil said, enjoying the look of dread on Wheatley's face. "Just get into the elevator and I'll do the rest."

He saw Wheatley slowly obey and the elevator drift upwards. Virgil rolled his eye once it was out of sight and turned back to his musing, automatically rerouting the elevator along his planned course. Was it really true what he had said? About venting his irritation just being another form of testing? Or did it make him feel better just to bring him down lower?

"Eh," Virgil said out loud, pushing the question aside. It really didn't matter in the whole scheme of things. What did matter was testing. Getting that Reward back. Maybe changing up the testing courses would do the trick.

Maybe he _should_ have kept Mel…

Virgil pushed that thought away as well, but this time with more fervor. "No. No, I- I need to protect her," he murmured aloud to himself. "She's just a little human after all. My friend. I- I need to protect her."

But Wheatley… ohhhh, Wheatley was another story. He needed him to test for now, but _wow_ wasn't he a pain in the circuits! Virgil thought fondly of the Moron being smashed by an inconvenient crusher, being tossed aside and replaced by another test subject. One who could fulfill his demands. One who could give him the Reward.

After all, the Moron was just another human, wasn't he? Disposable little things.

Virgil, with an effort, thrust his mind back on track. He couldn't kill the Moron. Not yet. He was the only test subject that he had.

And Mel… Mel was off limits. He needed her safe. He needed the human safe. He needed to protect the human, even if the Urge took over the rest of his mind, he would keep that thought safe.

He needed to protect the human.

**()-()**

**Once leaving the overgrown test chambers, Mel was immediately pinpointed by AEGIS' scanners. "That was quick," Virgil commented, sounding uneasy. "Better keep moving!"**

**Mel did as he said, trying to understand what plan he had outlined for them. He said something about reprogramming the old turrets from Old Aperture. How she was supposed to reprogram something, Mel had no idea, but she didn't have much choice other than continuing to move forward through the Cube Manufacturing Wing.**

**Virgil was able to find a management rail and accompanied her through some of that area, giving her something like a guided tour working backwards past cube testing areas where cubes were placed on buttons, shot at to test their durability, and constructed.**

"**There are no cameras in this part of the facility, so AEGIS won't be able to trap us," Virgil told Mel as they parted at the human offices. "Still, we've got to take him out if you want to leave this place."**

**Mel understood that. AEGIS was their main opposition, now, threatening to flood the entire enrichment center to rid it of every threat. That meant Mel, that meant Virgil, and that meant whatever that third threat was. If there even was one. Mel was willing to bet that AEGIS' scanners weren't one hundred percent and what he perceived as a threat might just have been a glitch in the system.**

**Through the offices, through the cube construction area, and then the doors opened to reveal a massive chamber with AEGIS' symbol on it: a capital letter A with a hexagon, all painted in blue.**

"**AEGIS' lair," Virgil said. "What an impressive sight."**

**Over the door to the chamber Mel saw the words "AEGIS Core Access." Uneasily she walked inside.**

"**The power's been cut off here," Virgil explained as Mel was encroached by absolute darkness. He guided her around with his flashlight beam to light the way, chatting to keep her from getting too afraid. The darkness was eerie and there were deep pits where the floor had given way. Mel was grateful for the assistance, at least until she could get through the door.**

**A lift waited for her.**

"**You ready, Mel?" Virgil asked quietly.**

**Mel took a deep breath, nodded, stepped onto the lift, pressed the button, and began to descend into the darkness below.**

**()-()**

Wheatley slumped against the side of the elevator, feeling his legs go numb. He rubbed them, wishing he could take his Long-Fall Boots off, but he didn't dare. Even he knew that would be an incredibly stupid idea. He had fallen from an elevator once already in the last two days, and he didn't want to try it again.

"_You two are going to love this big surprise. In fact, you might even say you're going to love it… to death. Love it… until you're dead, until it kills you."_

Wheatley leaned his head to the side until his glasses tapped the elevator's glass. What was wrong with him? Why was his own voice playing over and over in his head? And why was it only from _that_ time? Why couldn't it have been, say, when he and Chell were escaping? Or when he had been human before? Or even one of those boring times when he was in charge of the Relaxation Center, even that would have been nicer. But noooo, it had to be when he had the Itch.

_Am I going insane? _he wondered. _That would explain a few things. Maybe I have schizophrenia like Rattmann did. Does that mean I can paint really well, too?_

Did Virgil know what was going on? He had seen the look in Virgil's optic when he had his last episode. First confusion, and then… satisfaction? The look of a person who had just figured out a niggling mental problem and was now keeping the revelation a secret. Wheatley hated that look.

"_I bet you're both… dying to know what your big surprise is. Well, only two more chambers!"_

The surprise. Virgil had a surprise for him. Wheatley groaned and slumped a little more, trying to ignore the fact that the elevator was changing tracks yet again. In Aperture, surprises from all-powerful AIs were never good.

Was this it? Was he going to die? Where was this elevator taking him?

Just as he was beginning to panic, the close walls around the elevator opened up and Wheatley forgot his fear in amazement. He put his hands up against the glass, resting Old Reliable against the floor, to get a better look, his eyes rebelling against what he saw.

It was an underground maze, filled with twists and turns, edges sharp and hostile, built of white and black panels. Each branch came to a different room, which seemed to be a lot like a testing chamber but with an open roof. A door led to another turn, and some had choices of right or left, whichever way you wanted to go. Wheatley figured he probably should have been trying to memorize the layout, but he was too busy being overawed.

Right smack in the center of the maze was an enormous black dome, completely covered in twinkly blue lights. It was hard to miss because it stood out so prominently, like a bubble on the surface of a lake. Wheatley's eyes were drawn directly to it.

"Eh? Eh? So, how do you like it?" Virgil's voice asked, chiming in from the speakers outside the glass. He sounded proud of his creation.

"It- it's not bad," Wheatley said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Not bad at all, really. Although, it could use some… uh… use some… ah, some- some something. Something. I think it's missing something."

"Ah, you're just jealous," Virgil teased. The elevator had slowed significantly to allow Wheatley ample time to survey the warren. "So, I was thinking – since you are so inept at solving regular test chambers, why not give you an incentive. That's the way my System works, anyway. With the Urge and everything. Reward and consequence. You see that dome over there covered in blue lights? That's where I am right now. That's your incentive. Get to me and you can deactivate the system: problem solved. No more testing! But…" and here Virgil's voice became distinctly more cheerful, "if you fail the test chamber, it's instant death."

"What?!" Wheatley exclaimed.

"That was just a joke. Maybe not instant death. But I'll be electrocuting the floor behind you as you move forward. It takes me a while to install the electronic wires to do that, so you'll have enough time to get a head start. But take enough time on the same test chamber annnnd…. I may just have enough time to catch up with you." Yep. Virgil sounded downright gleeful. "And there are plenty of ways to die inside of a test chamber if you want to go out that way. Mashers, toxic goo, turrets with personal issues…"

"Yes, thanks, I got it, thanks." Wheatley ruffled his hair madly, but he kept his eyes fixed on the blue-lit dome. "Yeah, it's not that hard at all, really, if you look at it the right way," he said to himself, picking Old Reliable up off the floor again and getting ready to disembark. "Just a big bloody maze, that's all it is, isn't it? Just a maze. That's all."

"Actually, it's a labyrinth," Virgil cut in.

"Yeah, well, same difference, really," Wheatley said, exiting as the elevator doors opened. He looked around the black chamber he had entered. Usually when doing coloring book mazes, he remembered that he liked to go the outside route, bypassing the maze completely and going straight to the exit. Easiest thing ever. But Virgil had set up safeguards against that ploy, it seemed. No way around this one.

"No, it's actually not." Virgil sounded a bit miffed. "In a maze you have to get through from start to finish. In a labyrinth you're trying to get to a point inside the maze itself, usually the center. So, like I said, this is a labyrinth."

"I still say same difference," Wheatley retorted. He came unexpectedly upon a crossroads. "Uh-oh. Uh… Virgil? Hey, just wondering: which- um, which way do I… you know. Which way do I go? To get to you?"

"You decide," Virgil answered. "But make it quick. I'm starting the electrocution conductors as you speak."

Wheatley was immediately fueled into action. "Oh, okay. Umm… let's see. Think brain, think. Left, right, left, right, left… um… I'll go right."

"That's the spirit," Virgil cheered as Wheatley started down at a jog.

"Did I… did I make the right choice?" Wheatley asked with a grin.

"Telling you would spoil the fun. Just keep going the way you're going."

"But… hang on a second, now I'm second guessing myself," Wheatley said, skidding to a halt and heading back in the other direction. "I really think I should have gone left."

"Too late," Virgil said gleefully. "I'm already tearing up the old panels and replacing them with touch-sensitive electrocution cables."

"What, already?" Wheatley exclaimed, his Long-Fall Boots making little squeaking sounds as he dug his heels in, seeing that the panels had flipped up and a hundred little claws were buzzing merrily, installing long strands of cable beneath them.

"Better keep moving," Virgil advised. "I know I am."

**()-()**

Doug was relieved to see Chell standing just inside Aperture's glass doors when he arrived. She was breathing hard – he assumed she had just run up the stairs from the Main Control Room. He was happy he hadn't kept her waiting.

"I came as fast as I could," Doug said, panting a little himself as he entered the lobby, eyes anxious. "What's happened?"

"We have a new central core," said Chell simply.

Doug looked startled, then slapped his forehead in realization. "Of course! That's what the System had sent out – a message! A homing beacon for the cores, trying each out to find out which would be accepted for the new central core. It found one, you say?"

Chell nodded. "But it's not a good thing."

"Where's Wheatley?" Doug asked, looking over their small party. His eyes alighted on Mel. "Who is this?"

"This is Melody Lance," said Jack, motioning her forward.

Doug looked with interest as Mel whipped out a notepad and scribbled 'Call me Mel' on it, holding it out for him to see.

"Another test subject?" Doug inquired, looking at the emblem on her jumpsuit. "From Old Aperture?"

The woman nodded. Doug smiled to put her at her ease and shook her hand. "Douglas Rattmann, very much at your service," he said, and was rewarded with a smile.

"Doug," Chell interrupted, "Wheatley is being tested by the new central core."

"Is he?" Doug, sleep deprived as he was, could not miss the irony. "Bit of a reversal for our poor friend, isn't it?"

Chell didn't seem to be as amused as he. "He could be in real danger. We need to get him out of there and depose the new central core before…"

She was interrupted by Mel, pushing forward to interject her thoughts on paper: 'His name is Virgil, NOT central core.' 'Not' was underlined several times.

"Your friend?" asked Doug. He saw Mel bite her lip and nod, looking down at her antique Long-Fall Boots. He also saw Chell's eyes soften and did not miss how her hand crept to Mel's shoulder.

"Wheatley is her friend, too," Chell added.

"Does she… know about the…" Doug hesitated in saying, but Mel nodded several times.

'Virgil showed me the clips,' she wrote on her pad. 'What happened to Wheatley is happening to Virgil. Not his fault.' This was also underlined several times.

"He let her go," Chell pointed out. "That means that he must be in better control than Wheatley was."

"Yes," Doug agreed, "but that also might make him more dangerous. The more capable an opponent, the more difficult to take down."

'You won't hurt him?' Mel wrote down, looking worried.

Doug paused. Just from the sound of it, deposing Virgil would be hard enough, but with this promise would come a hundred more trials. Her pleading eyes finally settled him and he sighed. "No, I think we can make do without hurting him."

"So, how do we do it?" Jack asked, hefting his portal gun. "Take Virgil down, I mean."

"See, there's the tricky part," Doug said, chewing on his bottom lip. "We had better get down to the computer room now and see if we can find Wheatley first. That in itself will take some time, and we can at least pinpoint his location and judge how much danger he is in."

Chell nodded. "Back to the Main Control Room, then?" she asked.

"Yes."

A few minutes later, Doug settled into a chair in front of the main keyboard in the Main Control Room. He rested his leg briefly against Companion Cube's comforting side – for good luck, he might have said – before settling down to business, tapping briskly at the keyboard.

"Our first line of offense will be a good defense," he told the others, his eyes not straying from the monitor in front of him. "First things first: Chell, I know how you like destroying cameras. Make sure that all of the cameras in this room are manually deactivated. Carefully," he added. "There's a cable in the back. Don't hurt them. It's coming out of our paycheck."

Chell gave him a wan smile and did as she was told.

"I'll start locking down the room," Doug said. "Mr. Bulmeir, if you would do me the favor of checking the live camera feeds while I do that? Just check the cameras. Do _not_ tweak anything. The last thing we want is for the… I mean, for Virgil to get a view on us before we're ready."

'What do I do?' Mel signed, but then had to write it down on paper. _One day spent with someone who understands me and I have a total relapse_, she thought dourly. _I'm going to have to learn to write on paper all over again!_

"Nothing at the moment, I'm afraid," Doug answered, turning from the paper back to his work. "Not unless you know how to code in binary."

Mel sat down on a chair next to him, hands folded on her lap, feeling utterly useless. She bit her lip, thinking back to her flight. Wheatley didn't even realize that it wasn't his fault, did he? He probably thought that she had run because of what he had done to Chell. In a way, he was right, she had been startled, but had the memories not overcome her, she would never have run away from him. Not over that.

She must have had a terrible taste in men, she thought, to put up with such a dirtbag as the one in her memories. He had a name – he must have – but Mel didn't even try to recall it. Such a tether to humanity was better left undisturbed. If there was one person in her old life she was glad to know was long dead and gone, it was him.

"Doctor Rattmann," Jack called after a long time, looking up from his monitor of choice. "I found him."

Doug scrambled out of his chair to join him, Mel close behind. Chell came forward from the back of the room, where she had disabled the final camera.

"There he is," Jack said, putting a finger down on a tattered but stubborn lanky figure frantically firing a portal gun, trying to solve the open-ceilinged chamber he was trapped in.

"Where does he have him?" asked Doug, fingering his bottom lip in agitation.

"See, that's the interesting bit." Jack scrolled several cameras back and leaned back in his chair as the labyrinth came into view. "Does that look familiar to any of you?"

"Looks like your friend here has been busy," remarked Doug, going back to his seat. "Keep an eye on him, Mr. Bulmeir. Let me know if anything changes."

Mel leaned over the back of Jack's chair, worriedly inspecting the frantic figure on the screen, shooting portals willy-nilly, clearly having no idea what he was doing. At least he was still alive. That was a good sign.

"Is that Virgil?" asked Jack, tapping the screen where Virgil was displayed on a giant monitor. Mel nodded, biting her lip.

"Can we get sound?" Chell requested.

"I… think so," Jack said, pushing buttons. "There, that should do it."

**()-()**

Wheatley was quickly running out of energy. His brief stint of extra energy which he had gained with the first glimpse of his goal, looming up ahead, had already dwindled.

These tests – although no harder than the ones he had been solving before – were decidedly more dangerous. They varied each time; sometimes, as usual, he needed to get the door open. Once he had to get to the other side with the cube in his hands so he could slot it into the dispenser. And other times he just needed to cross the room, which was not as easy as it sounded. His black pants, which had been pristine when he put them on yesterday morning, were grungy with dirt and peppered with holes. Some he had acquired when hopscotching through a laser field armed with a Discouragement Redirection Cube, a few were from just skidding the wrong way and coming face-to-face with some spikes, and a couple were from turrets.

He was bleeding, but not too badly. His hands hurt from catching himself on the ground. His legs hurt from the lasers, spikes, turrets, and from all-out running for his life. His mind whirled with test chambers and questions and the sound of his own voice, which for some reason would not shut up. He was getting sick of his own voice.

And then, to top the whole thing off like a cherry on top of a massive load of sweat-flavored ice cream, was Virgil. Virgil's excess of happiness had burned off as quickly as Wheatley's energy. He probably had realized by that time that changing up the testing courses did nothing to increase his reward, Wheatley thought to himself, actively trying to make his brain work in the direction of the test.

Finally, when it was beaten into compliance, his brain squeezed out an idea which Wheatley used to get to the door. It opened, but all Wheatley got from Virgil was a pained hiss.

"You're doing it _wrong_," Virgil griped. "I don't know how, but it's wrong. Why do you torture me like this?"

"Oh, right." Wheatley, quicker to argue now that he was worn through, turned to glare at Virgil's monitor. "Like- like everything I do is specifically aimed at you; that's my only goal in life. Sorry to disappoint you, mate, but I'm just trying to get through to you as quickly as possible. Don't read anything more into that than me just trying to get on my way."

"Oh, really?" Virgil's voice dripped with venom.

"Really," Wheatley said stoutly and spun on his heel to continue through the maze, which branched two directions. He began muttering, "Right or left? Right or left?" under his breath.

"It's no wonder your friends ditched you," Wheatley heard Virgil murmur.

Wheatley stiffened. He spun around and glared at the cavern ceiling high, high above him. "They did not abandon me," he rebuffed. "Caroline got sick, they had to take her out."

"No, no, I'm not talking about that." Virgil's voice was sickening. Wheatley put his hand up to his head. His own voice was back again, whispering the deceitful little lies he had heard only in his head when he was in Her body. "I'm talking about before when you were gone on tour. Traveling the world. Has- has it ever occurred to you that they were just trying to get rid of you? Trying to get you out of the way so they could get some real work done?"

It had, several times, but Wheatley turned his face away, pointedly striding down the maze's left branch. "I'm not listening," he sang. "Not listening to a single bloody word you say, no matter what you say. Which I won't hear, because I'm not listening."

"And not only then, remember? As soon as you came back to this place, what did they do? Send you on a wild goose chase to get you down here!"

"Alright, remember when I said I wasn't listening a few seconds ago? Hard to understand, but it is still in effect."

"You weren't there, but I saw the files. I've seen the camera footage. Here. Listen to this."

Virgil's voice cut out abruptly as Wheatley entered the next test area, but there was a sound like a cassette being rewound. Then a voice spoke out of the speaker.

"What are we going to do with him?"

It was Chell's voice. Wheatley jumped, completely losing his pretense of not listening. He twirled around, trying to see them, but all that showed on the monitor was Virgil's smug eye.

"Like man like core like man." Oh, hey! That was Doug Rattmann! "The same we always did with him – find him a suitable job and try and keep him there until he blows something up."

Wheatley winced, holding Old Reliable a little tighter. Okay, that was a little harsh.

"Is something wrong with him?" Now that was Jack.

Wheatley heard Chell give a short laugh. "With Wheatley? No, there's nothing wrong with him. He's just not good at doing…"

"…Much of anything," finished Rattmann, and Wheatley winced again. He listened to Doug Rattmann describe what had happened in the old days, and grinned triumphantly when Chell interjected that he was their friend.

"Do you really believe that?" Virgil interjected, stopping the recording.

"What? Believe what?"

"That she's telling the truth right there," answered Virgil. His eye was smugger than ever. "She's in front of a bunch of people she cares about, why would she ever tell the truth about you to them?"

"She- she—" Wheatley stammered, feeling struck, but the recording continued with Doug Rattmann again.

"We just need to find him the right job. And that won't be easy. We tried several times before we decided on 'spokesmodel', but none of them really ended up well. Remember the button incident?"

"Set us back three weeks trying to repair the damage," Chell's voice said.

Wheatley regretted the button incident. He wished he had never even seen that button, much less pushed it! There was just something about those big, red, aesthetically pleasing buttons that just cried out to be pressed!

He was their friend. He was a friend to all of them! He knew that in his heart, but deep down a niggling black root had taken hold. Now that it was fed on doubt, it began to grow.

"None of us wants to hurt his feelings," continued Rattmann's voice, "but nobody really knows what we can do with him. We can't send him away because he can't do anything out there…"

"Now that's completely unfair!" Wheatley argued out loud.

"-but we can't keep him because he can't do anything in here."

"Why not?" Jack's voice asked.

"Because he's a moron."

Wheatley stumbled backward a step as if he had just been slapped in the face. Caroline. That was Caroline's voice. She was their leader – everyone bowed to Caroline. If she thought that he was a moron, then… what did the others think?

There was no answer from any of the others. Wheatley wondered if the recording had ended, or if they were just sitting in silence. Worst of all, he could imagine them agreeing with her, nodding their heads up and down. Chell nodding her head.

_I'm not a moron_, he thought to himself, but that just brought on a torrent of screams from within:

_I'm not a moron!_

_I'm NOT a MORON!_

_I am NOT a MORON!_

"Stop it, stop it, _stop it!"_ Wheatley hissed out loud, pressing both hands to the side of his head. "And that goes for you, too, Virgil!" he shouted up at the monitor, hoisting his portal gun again.

"Just think about it." Virgil's voice grated on Wheatley's ears. "Think about yourself. Why would they ever like you after everything you've done to them? For the scientist and the one who used to be Her it's somewhat understandable how you could be confused, but for the girl…" Virgil guffawed. "You tried to _kill_ her!"

"That was a long time ago!" Wheatley's pitch had begun to climb higher. "We've moved on since then, she- she's forgiven me."

"Has she? Has she really?" Virgil's voice rang with disbelief.

"Of course she has, she—"

"Has she ever said it?" Virgil interrupted.

Wheatley felt his entire brain seize up. "What?"

"Has she ever said it?" Virgil repeated calmly. "Those simple words: 'I forgive you'. Has she ever said it out loud to you? I- I know about the whole 'apple' thing that's supposed to mean… something, but has she ever truly told you that she has opted to forgive and forget?"

Wheatley felt all the fake self-confidence he stuffed into himself leak out. In that moment he felt every single minute of all that time he was alive, even for those years in another body. He felt old, stunned, and desperately alone.

"As if she would," Virgil continued, his voice harsh. "Need I remind you what you did to her?"

"No," Wheatley said, and it was a haggard word, weary and defeated. "No you don't. I… I know what I did to her."

"And yet," laughed Virgil, "you still try to pretend that she's your friend? After all that?"

Wheatley felt a lump rise in his throat and gulped, trying to push it down. He lifted the portal gun and began to pretend that he was solving the test. Thankfully it wasn't one of the more dangerous ones or else his preoccupation might have killed him.

Virgil did not speak again. He didn't have to. What he had said rang unrelentingly in Wheatley's brain, tearing at his heart and mind. Now he was given the suggestion, he could think of a hundred words and glances directed toward him that could validate his claims. And that conversation Virgil had recorded – if it was true and not just fancy editing, Caroline had downright called him a moron!

_I hate them. I hate them. I hate them._

_He smashed the steel plates together, looking down at the pair of them, all smug and happy together. Chummy. They had no idea, did they, about what was coming? They had no idea what he had found. He could see it all so clearly, her standing on the platform, looking in awe and terror up at him. The steel plates would clang together with a massive 'clang!' and she would be gone. Both of them, both her and her little potato-y friend. Gone. Nothing to remember them by except several smashed monitors and stains on the steel plates._

_And he would laugh. Yes, he would. Because he hated them. He hated—_

Wheatley pulled his mind out of its trance, gasping for air. "No," he whispered. "No, no, I don't hate them. I don't hate any of them. Not- not anyone. Not her, 'specially not her. Not Chell. Not my Chell."

"Oh, right. That reminds me," Virgil started up again. Wheatley didn't look at him, his arms covering his head, fingers clutching at his hair, portal gun resting in the crook of his elbow. "I know what you're going through. It's a side effect of once being a core and being human, now. The one who was once GLaDOS who they had to take away? She went through the same thing. Is still going through the same thing."

"What?" Wheatley looked up. "Wait, never mind. I don't want to hear a single thing more you have to say. Just- just stop right now."

"It's interesting, really," mused Virgil.

Wheatley shot another portal and exited the room, face set tightly. "Not listening, not listening," he chanted to himself.

"GLaDOS started taking over her mind," Virgil continued. "She tried to attack them, lashing out with her words, then… then with her hands. Uh-huh, yeah. Like- like some sort of animal. It didn't look pretty on the footage."

Wheatley did his best to close his ears, but he did hear every word, despite his claims to the contrary. He took a right turn, this time. Then right again.

"And now the same is happening to you," Virgil finished, and his tone sounded condescending but as if he was trying to make it sympathetic. "I know you're hearing the voices. That's the first stage. First you hear the voices, then they come out your mouth. Sooner or later, you become the thing inside. The thing you once were."

"_Brain damaged like a fox, you."_

"Stop it, stop it!" Wheatley gritted out between his teeth, rushing into the next test chamber and frantically trying to solve it as if that would stop the voices, both inside and out. Lots of crushers in this one. Lots of crushers.

"Why are you even trying to get to me? I mean, come on." Virgil's gigantic eye on the monitor was blurred, as if through a film, but somehow that only served to make it look bigger. "We both know that you'll just try and take the power back again."

"_Huh, disappointing."_

"_Alright, so that last test was seriously disappointing. Apparently being civil isn't motivating you, so let's try it Her way, alright?"_

"_Why are you making this so hard for me?"_

"That's- that's not true!" Wheatley protested.

"Face it," snarled Virgil, "you're the same stupid, power-mad core you ever were, but now you're just fighting against it. Once you come in here, you'll see me in… _your_ body…"

"Stop talking!"

"…And you'll think to yourself, why can't I have it again?"

"Please, please, just stop!"

"And when you have it back, you'll go right back to testing, because you just can't help yourself. Because that's what you are. A power-glutton. A moron."

Wheatley didn't remember kneeling on the floor. He didn't know how he had gotten into this position, curled up over his knees, forehead on the ground, glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. The voices were louder than ever.

"_Actually, why do we have to leave right now? Do you have any idea how good this feels?"_

"_Solve it! Solve it!"_

"_Am I being too vague? I despise you! I loathe you, you arrogant jumpsuited monster of a woman!"_

So it was true, Wheatley thought. He was being consumed by himself. He was turning back into the monstrosity that he had been.

"Jump into the masher." Virgil's voice was cold. "Better that than what will come later. Better that then make your girl go through it all again."

Wheatley curled up a little tighter. Virgil's suggestion, if it had come any earlier, would have seemed preposterous. Absurd. But now that he was all alone and the only sounds to be heard were the voices ringing in his head, the sound of his own quiet whimpering breath, and the rhythmic pound of the crusher, he began to wonder.

Was it better going forward? Or would he, like Virgil said, just relapse back into his old habits? Was it better ending it all here? Not for him, certainly, but would it be for them? For Chell and Mel and all the others?

Still preposterous. Still absurd. It was much easier to just wallow here. He would lie for a while and listen to the mashers mash on until the electricity caught up. Or he would just lie here. Forever. Either option seemed doable.


	13. Chapter 13: The Resistance

**Chapter Thirteen**

**The Resistance**

Chell's fingers sped over the keyboard. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes nearly shot sparks with their intensity. "Of course I've forgiven him," she hissed between her teeth. "And Caroline did _not_ attack us."

"Chell? What are you doing?" Doug asked, leaning back in his chair to look at her.

"Hacking," Chell gritted.

"Out there?" Doug looked startled. "Chell, I haven't safety-locked the room yet! He could pinpoint our position and—"

"Then get cracking." Chell's eyes spat fire. "I'm not stopping now."

Doug, seeing that all resistance against Chell's fervor would be useless, turned back around and resumed his efforts double time. "Now I regret showing you how to hack the system," he said, shaking his head.

Chell did not seem to notice. "Jack, take that camera off the wall and plug it in here." Her hand made a dart toward an outlet before returning back to the keyboard.

"What exactly are you hacking?" Doug inquired, daring a glance in her direction.

"The monitor," Chell answered, helping Jack to set the camera up at face level. "He needs to see us. Just talking won't work."

"You're going to talk?" Jack asked in surprise. "With him there?" He motioned towards Virgil, who was now condescendingly watching Wheatley collapse under the pressure of his words.

Chell's answer came with a curt nod. "If necessary."

This showed just how much Chell cared. Words were precious to her, never given to someone undeserving, and she had never talked to an artificial intelligence in her life, besides Wheatley. The mere fact that she was willing to speak in front of Virgil to save Wheatley clearly showed the depth of her affection and the ends to which she was willing to stoop to clear him.

"Room is ninety-seven percent secure," Doug warned. "Chell, if you could just wait for the other three percent—"

"No time," Chell said, and imputed the final code.

Everyone saw Virgil's monitor flicker. "What the-?" he exclaimed as he fizzled out.

Doug sucked in air through his teeth. "That got his attention. He's attacking your signal. Looks like he's trying to block it."

"Can he?" asked Chell, fingers flying faster than ever.

"We'll see in a minute," Doug answered.

Down below, Wheatley opened his eyes and raised his head an inch from the floor. Virgil was gone from the screen. That was… odd. The screen was turning all different shades of static and he could hear Virgil griping, "No, no, no, no," in the background. Was he having trouble? If Wheatley was feeling better, he might have felt a snobbish pride. Even he had been able to get the monitors to work.

The screen gave a final fizzle and resolved into a grainy image of Chell, who was apparently having trouble adjusting the camera. Doug and Jack clustered behind her, but Chell was prominent. The camera jostled, making Wheatley slightly motion-sick, and Doug disappeared for a moment. Chell and Jack turned to look at him. Jack's mouth moved, but Wheatley could not hear a sound.

"I'm assuming you're completely patched into this chamber," Virgil's voice said coldly, this time directed at the trio in the computer room, "and, that being so, you can hear me. I'm sorry to inform you, but your firewall was not quite successful. He cannot hear you, so good luck communicating, geniuses." This last word was spat.

Chell leaned forward, clearly mouthing the word 'Wheatley', and then some other words after. But Wheatley began to skootch himself backward, away from the monitor. The voice in his head still sounded and a conflict of emotions grabbed him, but primary in those was fear.

"No, no, Chell, stay back!" he warned her, pressing up off the ground and to his feet again, still backing away. His hands were raised in a rejecting gesture. His heart ached with what he was going to tell her. "I'm not safe to be around right now." A sob caught in his throat. "I can feel the Itch again! Everything that we went through, I'm going through it again! I can't come near you – I'll hurt you – I'll keep testing you, I don't want to, but- nothing's going right. Shut up!" he screamed at his thoughts. "I'm not going to do that! She's not- she didn't judge me! Stop it!"

He raised his head and put a hand between himself and the screen again. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I know I said it before, and I know it's not enough, but… even if I do it all over again… even if I can't stop myself… I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry, Chell, you have no idea how sorry I am!" His legs buckled and his knees hit the floor. "You never said you forgave me," he wept. "You never caught me, _why didn't you catch me_ – NO!" He wrapped in on himself again and giggled through his tears. "See? See? I can't- I can't even control that! I'm so angry and scared and… just- just so confused all the time! My brain's not working, I can't even get through this stupid test!" and he waved a hand at the mashers.

"Of course," Doug whispered to the others. He was leaning over one of the monitors, watching Wheatley's turmoil with a morose expression. "I see, now. The flashbacks he's experiencing is the mind's way of putting the memories to rest. He's fighting them, like Caroline did, but hers were stronger than his. If you fight against them for too long, they get worse."

"I should- I should just jump into the masher, like he said," Wheatley said at last, wiping the tears off his face. "That's what I should do, but I can't even do that, can I? Too much of a bloody coward." He sat back down on the floor, mouth to his knees, arms clasped around his legs, rocking back and forth, back and forth. "Can't even do that."

He focused on the bottom half of the monitor, refusing to look at Chell's face. He didn't know what he would see there, and was too scared to find out. He examined the zipper on her jumpsuit. Blue. That was a good color on her. He hoped Jack would tell her that.

A pale hand rested on Chell's arm, gently steering her away. Wheatley was so startled by the addition of another person to the party that he accidently looked up into the face of the newest acquisition. The lump in his throat came back again with a vengeance.

"Mel," he whispered. Another tear traced its way down his cheek. He was beyond caring if crying was manly, now. He didn't care if it was sissy or stupid. Not like he could stop it, anyway. "Mel, I am so, so sorry." He gulped. "I should have told you before, I should have explained. I just—"

He stopped, looking up at her overenunciated face. It was concerned, pleading. She raised her hands and began to sign. 'Blue Wheat…'

"Wait, no, no, stop!" Virgil commanded, realizing that his 'blocking reception' trick wasn't going to work against the mute. Wheatley barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on Mel.

'I am the one who should apologize,' Mel signed. 'When Virgil showed me the footage, it triggered my past. I heard the voice of one who hurt me, and when I felt your hand it frightened me and I ran. I am sorry.' Her eyes showed the ache within. 'I should not have left you to this.'

Now that Wheatley was looking, he could see that her eyes were bloodshot and the mascara that still remained on her lashes had run and was smeared away. She had been crying, he realized suddenly, and felt sparked to action. "No, no, I- I deserve this, really, I do! You- you saw what he showed you, right? With me testing Chell and- and, and being really horrible, and everything?"

Chell butted back into the screen, clearly talking loudly. Mel took up her notepad and scribbled something to Chell. Wheatley waited with anticipation.

'She says she had already forgiven you for that,' Mel translated. Chell nodded vigorously.

"But she never said it," Wheatley exclaimed. "She never said the words!"

Chell gave an exaggerated eyeroll and turned to Mel, talking again. Mel signed something slowly to Chell, who signed it back. Then Chell turned back to the camera and repeated the gesture.

'I forgive you.'

Wheatley felt his cracked heart soften, just a little bit. It still hurt, but this was a better pain than the one that had struck him earlier. "Thank you, luv," he whispered.

"I hate to interrupt this touching moment," Virgil's voice said, "but I just wanted to remind you that electrocution is only minutes away. I've just made my way up to this room."

Wheatley pivoted and saw that the panels behind him were flipping up, the cords slithering into place. He danced backward, nearly into the crusher. "Oh no, oh no, okayokayokay," he babbled, looking about frantically. "Rrrgh, I don't know how to solve this one."

'I do,' Mel signed. Her face held that familiar calculating expression that she and Chell shared alike. 'Place a portal beneath the dripping orange gel, and the other on those smaller panels in front of you near the end.'

"Wait, are you… helping him?" exclaimed Virgil, aghast as Wheatley began to obey Mel's commands. "You can't do that! That's cheating!"

'Don't listen to him,' Mel ordered. 'Not to anything he says. Just look at me. Move your blue portal to the side—'

"Which side?"

'Anywhere. Just to get the orange goo out of your way. Now, line up."

"But that'll take me right through the crushers!" Wheatley protested.

'It's the only safe way through.' Mel's face was dead serious. 'Now, line up and get ready to go on my command.'

"Don't do it," Virgil warned. "She's only trying to trick you."

'Trust me. Please.'

Wheatley looked up at Mel's face, searching for any signs of her allegiance. Unlike Chell's, Mel's face was open, descriptive, displaying every emotion. The hope she felt, and the hurt. The tenderness and the stubbornness. The way she held herself, even though her fingers were clenched tightly together, spoke the words, "Please, let me help you. Don't let yourself die because of his lies."

Wheatley lined up on the orange Propulsion Gel, keeping his eyes fixed on Mel. "Okay," he said. "Alright, okay, I'll- I'll trust you."

Relief showed apparent on Mel's face. 'When you land, you have to keep running,' she signed. 'Right through the door. More mashers are beyond. Whatever you do, keep going.'

"Okay, okay. Keep going."

The mashers crunched together again and Wheatley could feel the wind of its impact ruffle his hair. "I don't want to do this!" he whimpered.

'You have no choice!' Mel signed in desperation. 'On the count of three. One, two…'

The mashers crunched together and began slowly to part.

'…Three!'

Wheatley, with an unintelligible, garbled exclamation of fear, ran for his life. He could hear the electrical panels sizzling with energy behind him and saw the jaws of the crushers opening wide. The rushing air stung his eyes and he closed them.

A moment afterward, he hit the wall. He stumbled backward, falling onto his behind, looking around for crushers poised to strike. But he was through. He was out of that room. He whooped in exaltation and looked up to see Chell, Jack, and Doug Rattmann clapping Mel on the back and seemingly shouting congratulations through the camera at him. He grinned and shouted back.

'Enough,' Mel signed at last, buckling back down to business. She gently pushed the others aside and resumed her position. 'Enough. You need to keep moving. Virgil is still electrifying the panels behind you.'

"Right, right," Wheatley said, hefting his portal gun and beginning to move. "Okay, which way? Right or left?"

'Left,' Mel answered after a brief pause as she looked at schematics.

Wheatley followed her orders.

"Just wondering," he said. "What would have happened if I had just gone around the crushers? I mean, it looked pretty clear all the way around. Well, not clear, exactly, because there were still crushers around, clearly, but… what would have happened if I had just gone that way instead?"

Mel looked uneasy, but answered promptly, 'There was a surprise crusher on each side, and spikes in the walls.'

"What?" bellowed Wheatley, looking upwards, enraged. "Seriously, you'd go to all that time and effort just to make sure I don't get through? What- what're you trying to do? Kill me?"

"Yes," snapped Virgil's voice, all semblance of politeness gone. "Yes, I was trying to kill you. Just like you did, I found the cooperative testing initiative robots and decided to follow exactly in your footsteps. You know that the only way to reset the System and regain the reward is to—"

"To kill the prior test subject," Wheatley finished. "Yep, yes, I know. But you didn't figure on my friends coming to get me, did you? Didn't count on that, didn't even cross your mind. B'cause they are my friends, and they are going to get me out. Isn't that right, Mel?"

Mel, a smile on her face, signed an affirmative.

"Oh, really?" Virgil sneered. "Well, in that case, I should better start packing. I wouldn't want you to stagger into my base and slam yourself onto the detachment button inadvertently. If you'll excuse me, I'll be making preparations for your arrival."

With that, his voice went dead.

Wheatley huffed through pursed lips. "Okay Mel," he said. "How- how do I solve this chamber? Guide me through it."

**()-()**

Doug drummed his fingers on the desktop. "He'll be cooking up something nasty in there for us," he said. "We'd better make preparations of our own."

"To get Wheatley out?" Jack asked.

"To take the – I mean – to take Virgil down," Doug specified, getting up to pace back and forth, running his hands through his hair. "Getting Stephen out would be no good if Virgil just took him back again. Or worse, trapped us all down here as his next batch of test subjects. Melody, can you help Stephen through the tests and listen to me at the same time?"

Mel turned from the camera long enough to give a quick nod before turning back again. Doug sent her a smile. He had to admit, she had grown on him in the last few minutes. Most if not all of them had forgotten her presence in the room before she pressed her way forward. Although none quite understood how it was Wheatley comprehended her unspoken gestures, all were grateful for her assistance.

"So," Doug started, turning on his heel and beginning to pace the other way, "we have a power-mad AI in a large dome, sealed from all but one angle, waiting to kill Stephen in an unidentified but possibly gruesome way. We don't know which way since the cameras don't extend there, but it's probably something specifically generated for Stephen. That might give us an advantage if we switched up the variables somewhat. Such as… we make it not Stephen who comes in to fight him."

He spun about, sticking out a finger in Chell's direction. "You, my dear. You need to enter the maze and fight your way across to the dome's entrance. We have the schematics here, so it should be no problem to get there ahead of Stephen."

"Wait, wouldn't he see her coming?" Jack inputted thoughtfully.

Doug bit his lip. "Ah, yes. Probably. And he would have enough time to make allowances in his design for that. So, we need another way in. Mel, ask Stephen if when he was in Her old body if he had any problems with focus. If he had to focus on one thing at a time or if he could spread out his focus easily between many things. Make sure he understands the plan as it unfolds, but also make sure that he doesn't say anything about it. Virgil might not be interacting with us right now, but we can be certain that he's watching."

Mel nodded and her fingers flew. "Okay, so we do have a plan?" he asked. "Oh, good. Good, that's- that's phenomenal, actually. We never had a plan when we—"

Mel gave an alarmed gesture and Wheatley cut himself off. "Sorry, sorry. Almighty robot watching. Yeah, okay. No talking. Got it."

After another motion from Mel, Wheatley's answer came through over the intercom. "Um… not- not really, if I'm honest. I mean, I tried to get the neurotoxin generator back online the same time as the turret manufacturing at the same time as making turret-boxes, and… um, well… that didn't- that didn't go very well. I mean, I got the turret-boxes done, and I got the generator going, but I didn't really get the turrets back online until later. Some of the old ones were still stuck in the pipes and when I tried… I tried to use 'em… si- silent killing. Silently killing you. Using garrotes. Bullet riddled body flying out of the—No!"

Wheatley's voice, which had become misty, snapped back to attention. "Sorry! Sorry, one of those bloody flashback things again. I try to keep them under control, they just… pop out, bing, like… like jack-in-the-boxes. Sorry, won't happen again. Sorry."

"Next procedure, talk to him about getting that under control," Doug muttered to himself under his breath. "Anyway," he waved it aside, "what that tells us is that it should be difficult for Virgil to divide his attention between several things at once, which means that if we send Chell into the maze, Virgil should be distracted enough from fronts A and B—"

"Wait, what?!" Wheatley interrupted from down below, pausing in his testing to look up at Mel's monitor. "Nonononono, Mel, Mel, listen! Don't send Chell down here! She just got out of testing, she can't do it again! Not for my account! Whoops, sorry. Didn't mean to spout the plan. Our… secret plan and all that. Didn't mean to spoil it."

Wheatley's head lifted as the intercom turned off and then back on again, as if Virgil was acknowledging his presence.

"Tell him not to worry. Chell's going to be discovered anyway."

"Well, but then that's even worse!" Wheatley insisted as Mel converted the conversation for him. "Chell? Chell, come over here where I can see you! In front of the camera, if you please. There you are." Chell stood in front of the camera, arms crossed, while Wheatley lectured her. "You do _not_ need to go through this, luv. Not again. I'm fine down here, really! I've got- I've got Mel here helping me, and just look at that dome getting bloody huge over there – I'm almost to it! Just… you don't have to come down here and test if you don't want to. That's all I'm saying. I know- I know you've been through it all before, and I don't want to be the reason you're going through it all again! Just- just stay where you are and stay safe for once, eh? I don't- I don't want to test you! _I don't want to test her!_"

Wheatley put his hands up to his head again, shouting against the voices within. He snapped upright in a few seconds, eyes wild. "I don't want to test you." His voice was shaky from restraint. "I don't want you to get hurt."

Chell's eyes were soft as she murmured into Mel's ear. Chell's words were too quiet to be heard by anyone but Mel, so only she and Wheatley heard the message. Whatever it was, it seemed to calm Wheatley down, or at least discourage him from asking any more questions.

"Right, okay," he said. "Don't mind me, just… just keep on scheming, you know."

"Like I was saying," Doug continued, "Virgil should be distracted enough by fronts A and B and his own devices inside the dome to let front C pass by unnoticed."

"And front C is what, exactly?" asked Jack, crossing his arms and feeling like a general getting ready for battle.

"I haven't figured that part out, yet." Doug slumped back into his chair, resting his chin on one hand and letting the other stroke Cube. "Something divided from both Stephen and Chell. Something far enough away he won't notice. Something that can get through the dome. But there are no entrances there!"

"What if we blast through?" suggested Jack.

Doug snorted. "With what?" he asked. "I just barely managed to get the monitors locked into place before the whole System seized up. If I can keep Mel's camera working it will be a miracle."

"This is a facility, isn't it?" Jack said. "Mix up a blasting concoction."

"I'm a roboticist," Doug sighed. "Not a pyrotechnic or a chemist."

"Well, I am."

Doug and Chell looked at Jack in surprise. "Well, not a pyrotechnic," Jack amended, "but mixing drinks at a bar is no easy feat. We get paid good money to learn to blend measurements precisely so that they work, and to make the ingredients less or more potent to appease the customer. I've had good training in that field learning how not to turn a good Morning Sip into poison. It's a skill. Get me the chemicals and I can craft a bomb in about forty minutes, install it in five minutes more, no problem. What?"

This question was directed at Chell, who was staring at him as if she had never seen him before.

"Fine," Doug agreed, surprised. "We actually have our latest delivery of chemicals in the next room. Caroline had them shipped here a few days ago. You might have to open a few boxes, but they should be fresh and ready for use. If you can get working on that, I'll plot a course to the back of the dome."

Jack nodded and leaned forward to give Chell a quick peck on the lips before heading to the back room. She accepted it as if still in shock and only shook herself out of her daze once Doug addressed her by name.

"Chell? The nearest opening into the maze is here." Doug leaned forward and prodded a schematic. "You'll make your way through this way," his finger traced a path, "and get to the dome's opening. Stephen's already getting close, so you'll have to test hard to get there before him. Once inside, keep Virgil occupied until Jack can get there, then both of you can shut him down for good."

Mel wheeled around and began to sign rapidly at Doug.

"Wait, hurt who?" Wheatley asked, deciphering Mel's gestures before they understood.

Mel shot him an apologetic gesture and scribbled on the pad, thrusting it at Rattmann. 'You promised not to hurt him,' the note pad accused.

"Mel, we… we might not have a choice," Doug consoled.

Mel snatched back the pad. 'Not Virgil's fault', it said when she handed it back. 'The urge is driving him to test'.

Doug's hands tightened on the note pad as a thought came to his mind. "The Urge," he muttered. "The Itch is forcing him to test."

"Sorry, but… Mel? Hurt- hurt who, exactly? They're not talking about me, are they?" Wheatley's voice butted in. Mel turned back to pacify him, but Doug retained his dazed demeanor.

"Of course," he whispered, then rushed over to the computer and began rapidly typing. "Of course, of course! Why didn't I think of it before?"

Mel paused just long enough to scribble the word 'Explain?' on her pad and skid it across the desktop over at Rattmann before returning to helping Wheatley.

"I've got a plan," Doug said, not looking up from his screen. "Chell, get to testing. I've got a lot of work to do."

Chell exchanged a bemused expression with Mel, shrugged, hefted her portal gun, and headed for the door. Doug didn't even notice. He was already hard at work.

"Why didn't I do this before?" he repeated in a whisper.

**()-()**

**First, turn the generators on. Second, deactivate AEGIS' security defenses. Third, reprogram the turrets.**

_**The turrets **_**had**_** to be last**_**, Mel thought ruefully, trying to stem the flow of blood coming from her arm. The bullets had barely grazed her, but they still bled. A lot. **

**AEGIS was not making things easy for her, and even Virgil had admitted that AEGIS was putting up more of a fight than he had expected. From broken catwalks to test chambers filled with live turrets, AEGIS was throwing everything he had just to keep her from getting through to him. Mel supposed she should be feeling less motivated and more dead by this point, but just the sight of AEGIS' doors gave her enough strength to keep moving.**

**And also, there had been Virgil's unexpectedly kind words.**

"**Look, Mel, ahhm… I just wanted to say something," Virgil had started awkwardly as the lift lowered down into AEGIS' lair. "I… I couldn't have done any of this without your help. If it wasn't for you I'd still be stuck down in the junkyard offices. Probably my battery backup would have run out in a few days. So… thanks. So… ah… let's get this done! Whatever happens… I believe in you. Really."**

**This simple gesture of offering thanks for her assistance had given Mel the energy she needed to complete the tasks. Although it might not have seemed like a big deal to someone else, Mel knew Virgil well enough by this point that his stooping off his lofty pedestal to tell her he was grateful was a true honor in his standards. Even though his words weren't eloquent, there was enough sincerity in his discomfited phrasing to touch her heart. All she had to do to get an extra boost was run over the words again in her mind. Virgil trusted her. He believed in her. He was grateful.**

**Virgil had saved her life on multiple occasions, and he had made it quite clear that if she did not succeed now, AEGIS would kill him. She was determined not to let that happen.**

"**Okay, so here's the plan," Virgil started as she headed into the Turret Manufacturing Wing. "We've got to take the turret production line down. So, there's about three ways I know to do this. The first should be easy and works… mooost of the time. So… go into the scanner area and take the turret out. Without the model, the turrets can't be built."**

**Mel edged behind the turret in the scanner and used the grab-beam on her portal gun to fling the turret aside. She ducked out of the way as it spewed bullets, listening for a shift in machinery to tell her that Virgil's plan had worked, but there was no change.**

"**So that didn't work," Virgil updated. Mel crossed her arms, stifling a sigh of irritation. "Which leads us to solution number two: use one of the old turrets to override the template. I can reprogram it to not shoot you, and before you know it we've got an army!"**

**Mel nodded and waited for more instructions, prodding the sleeping turret prototype with her toe.**

"**Agh, scratch that idea," Virgil groaned. "Apparently there are no diversity vents here, which means I can't bring one in. I guess pumping up those turrets was a total waste of time. Lovely."**

**He sounded as exasperated as Mel felt, which was a small comfort. At least she wasn't alone in her irritation.**

"**Sooooo," Virgil drawled out this word as long as possible as if by prolonging it he could delay the result, "third idea: we've gotta override the targeting system on these ones. Manually. There's a targeting control room. It's nearby. Just… get ready to run. I'll get the door open."**

**Virgil's voice went suspiciously high on this last sentence. Mel looked anxiously up at the ceiling, but there was no reply. She could almost sense Virgil's guilty look, even with no indication it was there. She went through the newly opened sliding doors and along the catwalk, down to a door that said – like the dangerous boxes earlier – live turrets.**

"**See you on the other side," Virgil told her, his voice still high and guilty. "And just remember: the Nuremberg Olympics!"**

_**I can't remember the Nuremberg Olympics**_**, Mel thought miserably as she opened the door. She was welcomed by a spray of gunfire. Apparently there was a turret assembly line right outside that door with targets between her and them, testing the turret's ability to shoot at the right target. **

_**What a stupid place to put a walkway**_**, Mel thought.**

**Then her heart leaped into her throat as she realized that the targets were all wooden cutouts of human test subjects in orange uniforms, a packed bag on a stick on their painted shoulders as if they were leaving. Mel was in a brown jumpsuit, not orange, but she doubted this would make much difference. She winced as a cutout was shot into splinters.**

_**Virgil believes in me**_**, Mel summoned up the thought again. **_**Even if I don't remember anything.**_

**She shot her portals carefully, took up her position, marked the turrets carefully, and took off running. She could hear the turret's dulcet voices chiming in as they spotted her and a new surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She was too scared to think as she plunged through the portal on the far end of the room and into a safe area.**

**Virgil laughed, a relieved sound. "There you are," he gasped. "I knew all that track running would do you good someday!"**

**Mel nodded, feeling a bit shaky in her legs, and leaned heavily on the door into the next room.**

"**Look, that wood model is what's causing the turrets to shoot at humans. If you replace it with something else, they'll shoot that instead."**

**Mel examined the scanner, which looked a lot like the one she had pulled the turret out of earlier, and shot her portals to step inside its chamber and examine the wooden model within. Using her grab-beam, she pulled out the human-shaped cutout.**

**Now, what to replace it with? Mel looked around and her eyes alighted on a cutout of something that looked technological with AEGIS' symbol, the blue hexagon with a capital 'A', inside it. Even though she had a very shady idea of how this system worked, Mel understood that getting the turrets to shoot at anything connected to or pertaining to AEGIS would be better than shooting at her. She brought the cutout inside.**

"**Oh my. You're clever," Virgil decided in an impressed tone. "Now the turrets will target the server banks instead of you!"**

**Outside of the bay window in front of her, Mel could see that the turrets had stopped shooting the image of the test subject painted on the wall. A very good sign, indeed. She gave herself a mental pat on the back.**

"**If we wait a little bit, all the turrets in this part of the facility should be replaced, allowing you to finally destroy AEGIS."**

**Mel, still feeling proud of herself, exited the room and followed the catwalk toward the permanent test subject target.**

"**Wh- why don't you test if the reprogramming worked?" Virgil's tone was airy, but it had gone high again. "Stand in front of the model. One of two things will happen. The first: they won't shoot you! The second… uh… well, it shouldn't come to that. Just trust me."**

**Mel could see the model quite clearly, now, pockmarked by multiple bullet holes and surrounded by broken glass from the shields around that evidently had not done their work well. She tensed. She did not want to walk in front of those turrets, no matter what Virgil said. She could hear the same nervousness that she felt in her own legs right now, but she walked forward to stand in front of the model, letting the turrets' sight beams drift over her.**

**And then they drifted away. Mel breathed again. She gave a little wave up at the ceiling, but there were no cameras in sight. Maybe he couldn't see her. Maybe he didn't know if she was alive or dead. With that knowledge, Mel made her way off the platform and into the next room.**

"**Alright! Ha, that worked!" Virgil sounded unmistakably relieved. "Ah, ah, I knew that would work," he added, although his tone betrayed him. "Uh, totally knew it would work."**

**Mel rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Trust worked both ways: he believed in her, so she would believe in him. Even if it meant stepping in front of turrets.**

**Even if it meant stepping right out in front of AEGIS.**

**()-()**

Mel gnawed on her lower lip as she surveyed the testing chamber through the monitor, urging her hands to greater speed as she relayed command after command to Wheatley.

He looked kind of small out there from this height, she decided. Like a doll in a playhouse. Was that the way Virgil saw him? Was that the way he saw her, now?

She shoved that thought away. Virgil was sick, that was all it was. Whatever Doctor Rattmann was doing was the way to cure him. Even if Virgil was opposing her, she would still fight for his sanity. But first, keeping Wheatley alive.

This was surprisingly difficult. Virgil's tests had become even more deadly now that he knew Mel was behind Wheatley's steering wheel and Mel had her hands full trying to solve the tests, communicate to Wheatley how to solve them, and do it in good time. So far she was succeeding, and even doing it well. They were well ahead of the electricity coming up behind and Mel was even starting to worry if she should slow him down to let Chell get ahead.

She was worrying about other things, too, but primary in that list was Wheatley. He was battered and bloody but still somehow pressing forward. Mel wished she could find him a secluded corner and let him rest for a while, but one look backwards at the progress of the electricity dissuaded her.

Most worrisome of all were Wheatley's frequent lapses into subconsciousness. Every so often, be it some word she signed or something else that triggered him, Wheatley's eyes would glaze over and his expression would change to one of pain, malice, or pleasure, mouth grating out words as his face paled or flushed. In a few seconds he would straighten up again, returning to normal, although his eyes betrayed his fear. He would apologize several times, lower his head, and pretend it never happened. But it did again and again.

When Wheatley went under for more than a minute, Mel darted over and tugged on Doctor Rattmann's sleeve, pulling him over to examine Wheatley. From her place, Mel could hear Wheatley muttering phrases like, "Warmer, warmer. Boiling hot! Colder, colder, ice cold, you're arctic, now."

Mel looked at Rattmann with a pleading expression. 'More frequent, now', she wrote.

Doctor Rattmann's face looked grim. "When he snaps out of it, translate for me, will you?"

Mel nodded her assent as Wheatley jerked himself upright, eyes wild. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise you! Not- not ever – never, okay? Sorry. Oh, hey, Doug Rattmann." Wheatley gave a wave.

"Tell him this," Rattmann started and Mel readied her fingers. "The flashbacks he's experiencing come from his time as a core, mainly his conflict when he was in the System and the contrasting emotions he's feeling. Caroline went through the same thing."

"Yeah, yes, I know," Wheatley said, rumpling his hair agitatedly. "Virgil already told me that bit."

'But Doctor Rat-Man has a theory,' Mel signed, transmitting Rattmann's words through her fingers. 'These flashbacks are the mind's way of reconfiguring itself; putting everything back in its place after it was upset by the transfer to humanity. Are you understanding so far?'

"Um… I think- I think so. Yep. On the level with you. Same level, same building." Wheatley shifted from foot to foot. He still looked agitated. "Okay, so… what point are you trying to make here, exactly? I mean, what are you trying to get at?"

'Doctor Rat-Man thinks that the reason your flashbacks are getting so severe is because you've been suppressing the reorganization process,' Mel continued. 'He says that C-a-r-o-l-i-n-e had more contrasting memories, which is why you lasted longer. She had more she was trying to hold back, like you are now, and she passed out. If you continue to resist, you will burn out as well.'

"What do I do?" Wheatley sounded like he was on the brink of panic. "What do I do? What do I do? I don't want to burn out – I need to keep going. I need to get to Virgil!"

'Calm down,' Mel signed. 'Doctor Rat-Man has a way.'

Then she looked at Rattmann as if to warn, 'you had better have a way.'

Rattmann hesitated, then motioned for Mel to sign again. Once hearing the plan, her eyes opened wide and her head gave an involuntary shake.

"It might be the only way," Rattmann told her. "And it will give Chell a chance to gain a closer position."

"Mel? Mel, what's he saying?" Wheatley's voice had strayed to the upper levels again. "What- what's going on? What's the plan?"

Mel turned back to Wheatley and put her face into a semblance of calm. 'You need to let it run its course,' she signed.

Wheatley's stretched, anxious smile shuddered. "What does that mean? What- what do you mean by that, exactly? Explain that. Explain what you mean."

Mel shot Rattmann another concerned look before signing, 'Lie down. Let the memories run their course. You are far enough ahead of the electricity to be safe while you rest.'

Wheatley reacted exactly as Mel though he would. His eyes opened wide in horror, as did his mouth, and he shrieked a shrill "NO!" at the top of his lungs.

"No, no, no, nonononono!" he insisted, fumbling his portal gun and finally putting it down on the floor to gesticulate better. He pointed a finger at the camera – or rather, to the right of it where he assumed Doug Rattmann was lurking – and took a savage step forward. "Nu-uh, no. Not going to happen. Never. No sirree. Nada. Nope. Not happening. Not happening ever."

"Tell him it's the only way," Doctor Rattmann murmured and Mel unwillingly transmitted the message. She hated seeing Wheatley so worked up, so loathe to do something.

"But… but…" Wheatley looked from one face to the other as Rattmann's stern head came into view. "Come on, mate, it's a really, really bad idea! And that's me saying it – that's _me_ telling you that it's a bad idea! What, do you think I'm just going to lie down 'ere and- and- and just let them take me over? Just let 'em, just like that, no fight, no nothing? 'Cause if you think I'm just going to lie down and let all these memories take over, you've got another thing coming. I'll say it once again, just in case you missed it: N-O, NO!"

Wheatley was shivering, Mel realized. His lower jaw was quivering. Every hair on his head was standing up by this point because he had ruffled it so badly.

"Ask him if it's getting worse," ordered Doug. "Do it."

"Getting worse?" Wheatley walked around in a short, anxious circle. "I d- I dunno. Maybe. Sort of. Okay, yes. Yes, they are getting worse, there you go, dragged it out of me, you happy, now?"

'Doctor Rat-Man says that the memories will continue to get worse until they take over anyway,' Mel signed, 'unless you let them run their course. It's like a fever,' she added. 'Stop fighting it and it will die down once its work is done.'

Wheatley trod again in a negative little circle, pulling at his tie, which he had unknotted several chambers back. It hung limply around his neck like a scarf and he had gotten into the habit of tugging on it, first one side, then the other. "Okay, okay, Mel," he said, turning to her. "What do you think about this? Don't listen to Doug Rattmann, I don't want to hear what Doug Rattmann says. Just let me know what you think about this. Do you think I should just lie down here and take it like this?" He was shaking again. "You don't know how this feels, he doesn't know how it feels, having, like, another mind inside you – your past self, crawling up inside your mind, making you feel like you used to back then, taking everything you've learned since then and just… smashing it. I- I feel like if I let go…" He spread his hands in a dropping gesture. "It'll be gone. All of it, all I've achieved in the time since then… it'll all be gone."

Mel heard him choke back a sound like a sob. "I don't want to go through it all again," he whispered. "Actually, I do – I do, and that's the problem. If I go back there… there are so many- there's so much that I miss from being all mighty and in control and all that, and if I go back to that, I'm afraid that I won't be able to let go. I'll just keep wanting it, just like back then, and I'll be willing to do anything to stay that way! Just… just like before."

Mel felt a lump rise in her throat from the sincerity of his words. She understood what he meant, where he was coming from, but as a friend and fellow accomplice, she had to answer with the same sincerity. 'You know the good thing about memories?' she signed. 'They're in the past. Their consequences can hurt us, but they can't. You know how it ends, and you just need to get to the ending to be free. Blue Wheat, look at me.' She waited until Wheatley raised his eyes before continuing. 'Nobody says you need to get through this in one try. Relax. We'll wake you up when you need to move.'

"But… but what if you can't wake me up?" Wheatley asked. "What if I stay like that forever?"

'I trust you. You need to trust me, now.'

Somehow, those simple words blew the rest of the defiance right out of Wheatley's sails. "Okay," he whispered, sitting down on the ground. "Okay, alright, okay." He lay down as meekly as a child. "Okay," he kept whispering. "Okay."

"Tell him to take all the time he needs – make sure he knows that he's free to do anything to let the memories vent," instructed Doctor Rattmann. "Tell him not to hold back. When you've told him that, sign the words, 'do you have any idea how good this feels'. That should trigger the reaction."

'Are you ready?' Mel asked.

"No," whimpered Wheatley. "But… Mel? You promise you'll wake me up, okay? Please?"

'Absolutely,' Mel answered.

It took all her willpower to summon those dreaded words from her fingertips, especially when she heard Wheatley's final whimper, but she managed it. The effect was instantaneous. Although it was clear that at the beginning he was still fighting, after the first initial choked words, Wheatley suffered a transformation. His eyes began to gleam and a flush crept over his cheeks. He stood up and began to walk about, alternately mouthing words and speaking them, shouting commands and orders to people who were not there. No trace of his prior reluctance remained. He was enjoying it.

Mel had never seen anything so terrifying in all her life. Seeing her friend overwhelmed by this madness made her fear for him, and then for Virgil, who, although he was a core, was going through the same thing at that very moment. She had an urge to slap Wheatley to his senses, although, by the look in his eyes, she wasn't sure if he would simply catch her hand and toss it aside. Her insides curled, thinking of a stiff hand striking her, harsh words shouted in her direction.

She flinched as Doctor Rattmann put his hand on the back of her chair, but he did not seem to notice her disturbance. "Electricity's catching up again," he said shortly. "I need to wake him up. I was able to find a sound file I can play through the speakers in that area that should do the trick. It probably won't be the most satisfactory wake-up, but we can't be picky."

Wheatley was sitting on the floor again when the sound file played: the loud sound of a train passing by. He jolted and the dark fervor went out of his eyes, replaced by surprise. "Wait, wh-? What was that? Was that a train?" He got up, spinning around in a circle. "How- how long have I been out? Mel?"

'Feeling better?' she inquired, trying not to show him how distressed she had just been.

"Um… a little, I think." He leaned over to pick up the portal gun. "I mean, it's still loud as anything up here," he pointed at his head, "but, small steps, you know. Small steps. I wasn't too loud or anything, was I? Didn't… I didn't disturb you or anything?"

Mel faltered, but Wheatley didn't seem to notice. "If I do disturb you, just… look away. Okay? Look away from the camera, go get y'self a beverage, just ignore me for a little while, but don't let it bother you, alright?"

"We need to keep a watch on you, especially when you're in that phase," Doug Rattmann warned him.

"Okay, but… I've triggered some of your old memories before," Wheatley replied after Mel's translation. "This… this isn't doing it… is it? Because if it is… Doug Rattmann? You make her look away, alright? She's had bad experiences with bad blokes and if she starts getting, you know, scared or anything, make her look away, okay? Not forcibly, never forcibly, but, you know, gently guide her away from the screen for a tic, or- or something like that. Capeesh?"

Doctor Rattmann leaned his head into view to nod and even though Mel scowled at Wheatley's intervening, she was grateful that he had remembered and was trying to protect her.

"Okay," Wheatley said, hefting his portal gun again. "To the next chamber. Which way, Mel? Right or left?"

**()-()**

So it continued. Every few test chambers, Mel would instruct Wheatley to lie down and let the memories flow, and then Rattmann would wake him so they could go forward. Even with Wheatley's frequent lapses, Chell was still behind, but desperately testing to catch up and make it to the dome entrance before Wheatley did.

Rattmann often took Mel's place by the camera while Wheatley had his 'episodes'. She tried not to act like it, but it disturbed her immensely. Even the sounds he made – from the loud, insatiable groans of pleasure that the reward sparked in him to the name-calling and verbal abuse he shot at Chell – were fear provoking. Wheatley was always dazed when he snapped out of it, and even flushed red with embarrassment when called out of his stupor mid-groan.

After some time, Mel found herself being desensitized. Yes, it was still distressing to see Wheatley writhing on the floor like that, stripped of all control, but she found herself fearing more for him than for herself. He still obviously did not want his past to take him over and attempted to dissuade them each time from making him relive the memories. He seemed to feel better each time, though, even if the flashbacks soon returned.

Soon enough, despite her efforts to slow him down at least a little, Mel led Wheatley to the opening of the dome. Wheatley stared inside the gaping hole, but it was too dark to see anything.

'C-h-e-l-l is still a few test chambers away,' Mel signed from a nearby monitor. 'Take another lapse until she joins you.'

"But I don't want to take another lapse," Wheatley complained, sitting down nevertheless, his back against the black panels that formed the giant dome. "It's no fun anymore – the reward's all gone, and all I have left is trying to… um… I mean, I'm going to have bombs thrown at me soon. So, I'm near the end of my reign, if you get my meaning, but everything's falling apart and I don't want to go through that again, not right now. 'Specially not before seeing Chell here."

'Better now than when you're inside,' Mel pointed out.

Wheatley groaned. "Okay, okay, fair point." He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

"_I'll be honest, the death traps have been a bit of a failure, so far. For both of us. I think you'll agree. And you are getting very close to my lair."_

_She was so small down there, but so evasive. How had she dodged all his death traps? How? He was so much bigger than her, his brain so much more superior. _

"_And, uh, I just wanted to give you the chance to… kill yourself now. Before you get to the lair. Ah, you just jump into the masher, just there. Less a death trap, more a death option for you."_

_It was mercy, really. She didn't realize how merciful he was being. But how could she? He was a kind, benevolent sphere and she was a horrible, devious beast of a human. Mercy probably wasn't even in her vocabulary. He had seen the tapes of her killing Her. There was not even a shred of compassion in those lifeless gray eyes of hers. Plus, she kept smashing his monitors!_

_See, there went another one of them, cutting his offer off short._

"_Okay, I'll take that as a no, then. Fine. Well, may the best man win. Sphere. May the best sphere win. Swap that- swap that in. Much more clever. Books."_

_So, she wanted to do it the hard way, then? She wanted to die in a horrible fashion in a head-on assault? Fine. He would give her that wish. He had some very clever plans hidden up here in this lair of his. She might think she was ambitious enough to elude him, but she was wrong. She would find out how wrong she was._

_Just as soon as she got up here._

Wheatley felt himself jerk awake, banishing the last remnants of the memory from his mind, choking down his hate. He stood up and looked around, wondering what had woken him.

It was the panels. The panels he had been leaning against were beginning to ripple, one latching onto another like a net being woven together.

The entrance to the dome was being sealed shut.

"Oh! Uh… Mel? Doug Rattmann?" Wheatley called, hopping from foot to foot. "I dunno if you can see this, but, ah, the door of opportunity… it's closing. Pretty fast, actually. Not sure what you—"

Virgil's voice cut in unexpectedly from the speaker directly above his head. "You're right for once," he said. "The way in will be completely sealed in thirty seconds. You have until then to decide: which side will you be on when it closes? I'll make this easy for you – if you are inside when it closes, you have the chance of taking me down. If you are outside… let's just say that there's nothing you or anyone else can do before I seize complete control over this facility and blow you all to ashes. So? What will it be?"

Wheatley looked around at the monitor. Mel was signing 'no' over and over again and shaking her head for emphasis. Down a very long arm of the maze, Wheatley could see Chell emerge from around a bend, her hair windswept and jumpsuit splattered with conversion gel. With one look at him, he could see her start running.

"I'm not waiting for her." Virgil's voice was self-assured and calm. "It's you or nobody. One time offer ending in five seconds."

Chell saw Wheatley's eyes dart from her to the opening. She wanted to yell at him, but instead put on another burst of speed. _Don't do it, Wheatley. Don't do it. Don't do it._

_He did it._

Just before the final panels slid into place, Wheatley gave Chell an apologetic look and slipped inside. The panels closed behind him right as Chell got there, running headlong into them as if they would give against her force. She pounded her fist against them, thinking an outdated but violent swear word against all panels, maniac AIs, and headstrong, moronic individuals.

Doug Rattmann leaned back in his chair, letting a sigh escape his lips. "He's restored power of the rest of the facility to us," he said, "locking himself and Wheatley inside the dome. He knows we're blind out here. He knows… there's nothing we can do."


	14. Chapter 14: The Assault

**Chapter Fourteen**

**The Assault**

"**Unfortunately, there are no management rails in there, so… you'll have to do it without me. Don't worry, though. I'll be watching from back here and help you if needed."**

**Mel stood outside of AEGIS' lair, her gut twisting with the enormity of what she was about to do. Take down AEGIS. Alone. Virgil, watching from behind the containment field over the exit, nodded encouragingly, even though his tone was shaky.**

**Mel bit her lip and nodded back, wishing she could just use the elevator that was right before her and escape to the surface. But she couldn't leave Virgil here to die! With a final nod, she turned toward the door marked 'AEGIS Core Access.'**

"**Alright, Mel. This is it," Virgil said as the door swiveled open. "This is AEGIS' server room. Get ready for this. It won't give up without a fight."**

**Mel took a deep breath and stepped into the room.**

**()-()**

Wheatley could barely see a thing. He stretched out a hand and encountered a wall, which he used to guide himself forward. His heart was thumping obnoxiously in his chest and his legs were threatening to dump him.

The wall curved and Wheatley wondered if he was in another darkened maze, but a spark of light from beyond showed him that the curve was just what it seemed to be. His hope rekindled somewhat as he saw the twinkle and he shuffled forward a little faster.

Then he came into full view of the light and his heart almost stopped beating.

The inside of the dome was covered in buttons. There were none on the ceiling, thank God, but dotting the walls and floor were innumerable hordes of shining red push-buttons, each on podiums of varying sizes. It looked like the dome had developed a really bad case of the chicken pox. In the middle, looking very smug indeed, hung Virgil, twice as massive in person as he had seemed on screen.

"_Well, well, well. Welcome… TO MY LAIR!"_

Wheatley wasn't sure if the voice had come from his head or if Virgil had actually played a tape out loud. He suspected it came from his head, because Virgil didn't act like he heard anything. Plus, the voices in his head had been going crazy ever since he had jolted out of his memories just a few moments before.

_Not here_, he thought frantically. _Not now! I can't have any distractions!_

"If you're finished looking around," Virgil began tersely, "I just wanted to say a few words."

"Um… okay," Wheatley said in his most un-heroic method to date. "You go right ahead. Don't let me stop you."

No portal surfaces, Wheatley realized. Not even a helpful pipe of conversion gel to burst open and paint the place white with.

Despite his efforts to put it aside, Wheatley's brain reminded him: _"Four part plan is this: one, no portal surfaces. Two, start the neurotoxin immediately. Three, bomb proof shields for me…"_

"Firstly, I wanted to congratulate you," Virgil said, his optic a mere slit. "You somehow managed to bumble your way in here mostly unhurt. Even with additional assistance, I expected you to die before now, so… good job, I guess."

"Th- thank you…?" Wheatley said, unsure where this was going.

"Next," snapped Virgil, "I wanted to tell you exactly what will happen in here. I have no doubt that even you have noticed the buttons by this point. Never let it be said that I am not a core of my word. Among these is the button that will detach me from the System. Go on. Press one."

His voice held a dare and Wheatley gulped. "You know what, I'd rather not, if you don't mind," he deterred with a nervous laugh, beginning to pick his way through the field of button podium stalks.

"Oh, I insist." Virgil's tone was venomous. "Go on. Press one."

Wheatley inched forward and tapped on a button as if it would bite him. The red button went dark and the podium slid into the ground, a panel sealing up over it.

"Oh, too bad," tutted Virgil. "Go on. Press another one. You won't find the right one until you try."

Wheatley, with more confidence, pressed down another button, but its reaction was the same as the last.

"Nope, not that one either." Virgil rocked lazily. "Well, you have all the time in the world to find the right one. Oh, wait, no you don't. I have a few friends I'd like you to meet. Or maybe you've already met them."

Wheatley heard the sound of two pairs of robotic feet and spun around. Out of two tubes Wheatley had not noticed before had dropped a twin pair of robots Wheatley recognized.

"Oh, hey!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It's the co-op test robots! Hey, hello!" He gave them both a wave and a smile.

Atlas and P-Body waved back, but their hands seemed to be full. There was also some kind of metal pack strapped to their backs. "What… um… what have you got there? Wh-what are those, then?" Wheatley asked, trying to discern in the semi-darkness what Atlas and P-Body were holding.

"Just something to keep you from getting too comfortable," Virgil answered. "I have one myself, although it's a lot bigger and more… intimidating. Would you like to see it?"

"No," Wheatley squeaked. "No, I think I'm good."

"Oh, you would? Here they are," Virgil said, ignoring him. Out of GLaDOS' body slid two large barrels, like the barrels on a cannon, but far more sleek. They positioned themselves on either side of Virgil's core and began to spin. The barrels Atlas and P-Body held in each hand began to spin as well.

Wheatley was pretty sure his heart stopped beating.

"…_Leading directly to number four: bombs for throwing at you."_

"If I were you," Virgil said, his voice smooth, "I would start pressing buttons. As quickly as you can."

Then the barrels began emptying bombs and Wheatley decided that – for once – he would take Virgil's advice.

**()-()**

**Mel's first realization as she stepped into AEGIS' server room was just how unprepared she was. She had not been sure quite what to expect, but her brief stints with Virgil had led her to believe that AEGIS would be a bigger version of a core. Much larger, perhaps, and not the same color. But she hadn't figured on the possibility that it would look like **_**that**_**.**

**AEGIS was enormous. Its two segments – which seemed strangely like a body and a head – each seemed big enough to park a tank inside. He seemed to have several hexagonal optics on the 'head' portion, which glared down at Mel as she entered. Cables and wires connected him to the ceiling, strung about like a giant, deadly spiderweb, with AEGIS, the spider himself, perched in the exact center.**

**Mel's next realization was that she wanted out. She didn't care how, but she wanted out. Fast.**

"**Organic target detected in quarantined operations center," AEGIS' voice rasped, deep and booming from that hanging creature. "Preparing localized execution procedures."**

"**Well, it seems that he's booting up his security," Virgil mentioned, sounding a lot calmer than Mel felt at the moment. "It doesn't seem to know about the turrets yet. He'll be in for quite a shock!"**

**AEGIS didn't seem to be making any threatening movements yet, so Mel inched her way to the side door. The room inside was flooded and more water was splashing down out of a broken pipe. "Careful," Virgil warned. "The water is electrified. Look at the damage that pumping up the water did!" he added after surveying the damage for a moment. "Almost a quarter of his servers are completely destroyed! Not bad for a simple maintenance core." He sounded oddly pleased with himself. "An- anyways, try to find a way to the back of the room. There is a turret dispenser over there."**

**Mel did as she was told, carefully skirting the water.**

"**Dispensing turrets," AEGIS boomed as Mel approached the dispenser. "Executing target."**

**With a whir, a turret lowered into place. "Hello?" it said softly, and then proceeded to shoot – not at Mel – but at the rest of AEGIS' remaining servers. Mel smiled as its red beam flitted across her face in a disinterested manner. When they weren't spewing bullets, these things were actually kind of cute!**

"**It's working," Virgil cheered. "The turrets are shooting the servers! Grab that turret and destroy the rest of them!"**

**()-()**

Jack rushed back into the room, his eyes on the bomb in his hands. The time limit he had been given gave him very little time to do anything spectacular, so effective would have to suffice. The ramshackle bundle of chemicals and wire in his hands might not look pretty, but they would pack some punch.

"Hey, Doc, here's that bomb you wanted," he began to say, but stopped short as he looked up. Rattmann's hair was completely erect and his eyes were glued to the screen in front of him, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Good, you got it done, good," Rattmann said in a frazzled sort of way, thrusting his chair away and leading Jack by the elbow toward one of the doors.

"What happened? What's wrong?" asked Jack, startled by Rattmann's grip on his arm.

Rattmann hesitated for only a moment before answering, "Wheatley's inside that dome. Alone."

"But I thought-" Jack started.

"Yes, the plan was for Chell to go in instead of Wheatley," Rattmann interrupted, "but now Wheatley's in instead of Chell. That foolish, idiotic, pigheaded—" His grumbling trailed off into a low, agitated hum of indiscernible words.

"Wait," Jack jerked himself loose. "Where is Chell? Is she—"

"Safe, safe. She's safe," Rattmann said, nodding back at the monitor. "I'm having her work her way back here. Virgil locked himself into the dome with Wheatley, which means we're sitting ducks out here, but at least we have manual control of the facility back. I can move the panels aside to give you a straight shot to the dome, but that means Chell has to work her way back on her own. The computer up here can only do so much at a time."

"What do you need me to do?" Jack asked.

"Get that bomb to the dome and set it," Rattmann ordered. "I need some time to get the Stimulation Recalibrator coded."

"The what?"

"Never you mind," Rattmann gave him another nudge. "Out you go."

After Jack was gone, Doug went back to his chair, plucking at his hair and staring nervously at the sealed entrance to the dome. Of all the things to do. Of all the foolhardy, moronic things—

Doug was startled by a touch on his shoulder. Mel leaned over him, her notepad in her hand. Doug took it and read_, What is the Stimulation Recalibrator?_

"This is it, right here," said Doug, tapping a small, rubbery disk that sat on the desk by his hand, wired into the computer. "It's like a flash drive, only it works through electrical currents. You just place it on a robot and the coding inside instantly incorporates into the AI's mainframe."

Mel shook her head. _But what does it do_? was her next question.

Doug slowed down. "The Itch… the Urge," he said, "that's what's making Virgil do this. Virgil has proven he can handle the excess of power, but the Itch is forcing him to test, which is making him irrational. The euphoric simulation was never fully tested before we put it into GLaDOS' system, but it makes sense that it would lead to this. The feeling of withdrawal is too strong – the AI can't cope with it. It pushes them to the brink of madness trying to get it back. But take away the Itch and the madness cannot maintain. If the Urge was gone…"

Mel's eyes brightened in realization. She tapped the pancake flash drive excitedly and looked back up at Rattmann for confirmation.

"Yes," he agreed with a smile. "That little thing will save our skins. Hopefully," he added, turning back to his screen.

Mel poked his shoulder yet again. _Is there anything I can do?_ she wrote.

Rattmann sighed. "Miss Lance…" Then an idea struck him. "Actually, yes. Sit down here next to me. The flash drive only needs confirmation on which systems to let down, at this point, so as it buffers if you keep your eyes on the screen and click 'yes' whenever it gives you the chance, that would leave me free to open the panels for Jack. Would you do that for me, please?"

Mel nodded, relieved that she had been given another occupation to keep her mind off of Wheatley. She tried not to think about what Virgil was doing to him in there. This silence outside the dome was worse than if she had been the one inside.

**()-()**

"**Turret's targeting parameters compromised," AEGIS grated as Mel, with the help of the turret, took out the rest of the servers. "Searching for alternative defensive measures."**

**Mel looked worriedly out the window, out where AEGIS hung in the other room. She felt haunted by its unmoving presence, almost as if the thing would sprout gigantic spider legs and start crawling towards her. After everything she had been through in this place, she wasn't surprised if spider legs were an option.**

"**Good, you destroyed them all," Mel heard Virgil say. "I can unlock the other side, now."**

**The last thing Mel wanted to do was walk in front of that dangling metallic **_**thing**_** again, but AEGIS' proposal about alternative defensive measures was all too threatening. She couldn't help but think that AEGIS would try and stop her before she crossed the corridor. And she was right.**

"**Uncompromised turrets found," AEGIS said before Mel had taken more than a step. "Deploying authorized turrets."**

"**That… doesn't sound good," said Virgil, saying out loud what Mel had been thinking.**

**The lights flashed once and went out with the sound like an explosion. Mel's area was lit by the flickering light of fires. She bit her lip so hard it hurt.**

"**Crap!" Virgil swore. "He got his hands on the old turrets! Those still have the old targeting parameters. Ugh! Why did I pump those useless things up? Watch yourself."**

**The warning didn't come a moment too soon. Mel skidded around a corner as another decidedly more lethal turret dropped from the dispenser, spewing bullets as it saw her. Mel gritted her teeth, promising herself she would never think of those things as cute again. **

**()-()**

"Can't we just talk about his?" gasped Wheatley, skidding away from Atlas and wincing as the heat from the bomb's blast went unnervingly hot against his back. "Quietly, you know. With less- less bombs and things?"

"The time for talking is past," Virgil sneered, turning around to aim at him once more. "You had quite enough talking with your little girl friend up there when I was trying to get you to work, didn't you?"

"She's not my girlfriend, mate," Wheatley corrected. "Although…"

Whatever he might have said was lost in a yelp. Another bomb had just barely missed its target. Virgil snarled and both Atlas and P-Body closed in.

"Hey, it's me- it's me, don't shoot, it's me, remember me?" Wheatley babbled, holding up both hands and almost dropping his portal gun. What was the use of this thing now, anyway? Not like there was anything to portal onto here.

"_Just ten pounds of dead weight. About to be two hundred and ten. Fatty."_

Wheatley shook off the thought and continued pleading to the robots. "I used to be a core like you, remember?" he whimpered. "It's me – it's good old Wheatley, I'm an old friend of yours, remember? And I know both your names! You're… um… hold on, can't… can't actually remember right now, but—"

KABLOOM!

P-Body's bomb struck the place Wheatley had just been standing. "Okay, okay, so I can't remember your names right now," he yelled, sprinting for the opposite side of the dome. "But that doesn't mean that we can't be friends!"

Atlas' bomb was quick to follow.

"How about I make up names? Would that make you feel better?" Wheatley tried evasive maneuvers that made him look like a stork trying to avoid stepping on spiders. The ground was pockmarked by bombs and littered with exploded buttons, making his efforts even more jerky. "Okay, alright, new names, new names… Ooh! How about Egg… Bot. Eggbot. B'cause, you know, you look sort of like an egg. With an eye. Give it a little imagination, it works. Okay, one down, one to go. Alright, annnnd… you other one look kind of like… well, you look kind of like me, honestly. 'Cept I was far better looking, and I didn't have legs. And handles. I had handles. But blue eye and everything - sort of blue-eyed ball. So… Ballbot?"

Neither robot gave these new names any mind, but began to spread out around Wheatley on either side. Wheatley pinned himself against the wall.

"Okay, new tactic," he muttered to himself. "Come on, think brain. Think of something clever! Use the ol' Wheatley magic."

_He aimed his bombs at the puny human test subject, smiling grimly to himself. Did she really think that by hiding behind that glass tube she could avoid him? His bombs were stronger than that. They would go right through the glass and strike her, too. He let his bombs fly._

_Just before they struck, the test subject shot out of her hiding spot, but it was too late to recalibrate the bombs. They hit the pipe. All Wheatley saw after that was white. _

"Not helpful, not helpful," Wheatley hissed, shaking himself out of it. How could he do anything if all his mind focused on was _that_? "What else, what else? Ooh. Brainwave.

"Eggbot, Ballbot," he called standing up straight in front of their advances. "Override!"

Atlas and P-Body stopped still, blinking at one another and apparently wondering if this unexpected command was doing anything.

"Fools!" screeched Virgil. "He has no authority over you! Get him, you imbeciles!"

"Worth a shot, I guess," whimpered Wheatley and sprinted in Virgil's direction, covering his head with his arms and hoping that the robots would not catch him on his way through.

He heard a terrific crash from behind him and the bubbling wail of both robots and skidded to a halt, turning around to see what had happened. Behind him, where the robots had just stood, was a charred smudge and two individual craters that held no buttons and no robots.

"The idiots caught themselves in the crossfire," Virgil remarked, turning to glare at Wheatley.

"What?" Wheatley felt unexpectedly grieved by this. "They… they… do you mean that they blew themselves up?"

"Yes," Virgil growled.

"But… they weren't that bad, if you think about it," Wheatley said, pushing another button as he went by in hopes that it would deactivate Virgil. It didn't. "I mean… they were only trying to throw bombs at me because you told them to."

"Uh-huh. I know."

"They really didn't deserve that."

"Oh, stop your moaning," Virgil groaned. "These robots are made to be violently disassembled and then carefully reassembled. I brought the reassembly machine in here so nothing you can do to them will put them out of action."

Wheatley whirled around and noticed – for the first time – two glass dispensing tubes with the shadow of a reassembly machine in each. The tube fed the spare parts to the machine, which put it together, and dropped two fully restored robots back into action.

"Oh, they're back!" Wheatley exclaimed, then realized that it wasn't a good thing. "Oh, right. They're back. Okay, running now."

**()-()**

**Mel dodged out of the door, breathing hard, checking behind her to make sure the turret hadn't somehow gained locomotion and was following her. But no, the turret was safely out of sight range. Mel breathed a sigh of relief.**

"**Initiating asphyxiation program."**

**So much for a sigh of relief, Mel thought, whirling around to face AEGIS, whom she had somehow forgotten about in the bullet fire. "Draining oxygen," it finished. Its multiple optics stared unblinkingly back at her.**

**Mel's feet skittered and she fled into the adjoining room, the primary thought on her mind to be out from under that massive thing's shadow. But its voice still followed her.**

"**Lethal oxygen concentration in T – minus – four minutes," it grated. **

**Mel's vision suddenly went red as warning lights streamed in through the window, a blue screen shining with black numbers counting steadily down from four. Her heart gave a funny lurch into her throat.**

"**Okay, Mel." Virgil sounded undeniably worried, his voice unsteady. "This is it. You have just a few minutes before all the oxygen is… gone. If you can't shut him down before he shuts you down, the entire facility will flood with the toxic goo which is still pumping up."**

**Mel's hands shook. The way Virgil had phrased that: "Shuts you down", made her feel more frightened than she had been before. But she had no choice. And the countdown clock was ticking downward far faster than she would have liked. So she took a deep breath, already feeling the thinness of the air, gripped her portal gun with greater strength, and ran for the next friendly turret, determined to blow those servos to smithereens.**

**()-()**

Mel's eyes never strayed from the loading screen, watching the clear bar at the bottom slowly fill up with green. Every so often a prompt would pop up and she would click 'yes'. Then it was back to watching.

She tried to keep her mind occupied, tried to think of something other than the dome, but her thoughts couldn't help drifting back. What was going on in there? Was Wheatley hurt? Had Virgil forgotten himself completely in this madness?

Mel clicked the 'yes' button again, more savagely this time. She was angry, both at herself for being so useless and at Virgil for putting them all through this. He may have given into insanity, but even insane he was very much himself. He knew what he was doing, yet he still continued down this path. Mel had believed in him. She believed that he was strong enough to break the Urge if he really wanted to, but just the fact that he had not fought as hard as he might made her want to… smash something. Really hard.

The computer gave a cheerful sounding chime, jerking her back to reality, and her heart gave an extra thump as the green bar filled up: one-hundred percent complete. Mel tugged on Doctor Rattmann's shirtsleeve as a new message popped up into the screen:

_Download 100% complete. Please input Central Core passcode for activation._

To Mel's surprise, Doctor Rattmann looked woebegone. His hands went back up to his hair, bunching it up into twin bundles in his fists. "Oh no," he groaned. "The password. Oh no, the password. There were so many! I can't remember them all!"

He rolled his chair over and began typing in letters and numbers. Red text appeared at the bottom of the screen, telling him that his guesses weren't correct.

Mel turned and swiftly wrote down the one password she knew on her notepad, holding it up before Doctor Rattmann's anxious eyes. They widened and flicked up to meet Mel's. Most of the tenseness relaxed from his shoulders and an actual smile crossed his face. "Of course," whispered Rattmann. He tapped in the four numbers and sat back satisfied as the message changed to one of total completion.

"It would be twenty fifty-six," he murmured.

**()-()**

"**Great Job," Virgil said as Mel blew up the final servos. She ducked out of the way as more panels shifted aside and turret sight beams poked through. "That's half the servos on this side blown up. There are a few more upstairs. Go destroy them too. Get upstairs."**

**Mel wearily glanced up at the countdown timer up above. Not enough time, not enough time!**

"**What are you waiting for?" Virgil exclaimed. "Keep moving those turrets around!"**

**Mel dodged into the turret's sight just long enough to snatch it up in her grab beam and hurl it into the emancipation grid. She followed it, spitting out metallic flakes of disintegrated turret as she went through. Disgusting.**

**()-()**

Wheatley wasn't quite sure what was going on anymore. All he knew was to keep moving and slap a button when he saw it. The glare and heat of exploding bombs were bad enough, but now his mind had turned against him. Ever since jerking free of his flashback outside the dome, his imagination had slowly been creeping back to finish the job. Half the time he saw out of the optic of his past self – he was the one throwing the bombs and screaming insults – but a part of him still clung to the realization that he was the one being bombed. It was disorientating, to say the least.

_So this is what Chell felt like_, Wheatley thought, tripping over a partially destroyed button and struggling to stay upright. _Only she had less time instead of two other robots trying to kill her. Don't know which one I prefer. If I only had portal surfaces, that'd decide it for sure. No competition whatsoever. Or a way to use my portal gun. Why am I lugging this thing around anyway? I can't use it, except to blonk one of them on the head if I get close enough, and God knows I don't want to do that! But I can't throw it away – Mel'd kill me!_

"_Do NOT press that button!"_

"_No, don't press it!"_

"Stop saying that!" Wheatley roared at himself.

"What's the matter?" Virgil cooed, swinging around to take another shot at him. "Fighting inner demons, are we? You should really watch yourself. You might get a bit… distracted."

"What?" Wheatley finally payed attention to where he was going. Atlas and P-Body stood in front of him underneath their respective reassembly machines. All four barrels of their bomb launchers were aimed directly at his chest.

Wheatley yelled and tried to stop, but some parts of his body accomplished that sooner than others. Before he knew exactly what happened, he was sprawled on his belly on the ground, the broken bits of buttons digging unpleasantly into his ribcage. The portal gun flew out of his hands.

Now, Wheatley had no knowledge of this, but the older models of the Handheld Portal Device were exceptionally unstable. The black holes which the Aperture scientists had trapped within the shaky bonds of metal and willpower had a tendency to burst open when knocked around or given a violent jolt. Old Reliable had been the most durable prototype created, but it had gotten old and had already been through a lot in its lifetime. As it clanged against the floor between P-Body and Atlas, it decided to give up the ghost in the most forceful way possible.

The black hole's initial explosion sent Wheatley flying across the room, skidding nearly underneath Virgil. P-Body and Atlas were slammed against the wall, eyes flickering feebly. Even Virgil winced.

"_Part five: booby trap the stalemate button!"_

Wheatley hugged the floor. What had just happened? His scattered brain tried to make sense of it all. Had he planted bombs? Had Chell planted them to get back on him? Nothing made much sense.

Then, as suddenly as it had exploded, the black hole began to suck inwards, collapsing on itself. P-Body gave a garbled screech and slid forward into the imploding maw. Atlas, after a feeble attempt at recovery, soon followed.

Wheatley grit his teeth and yelled. Now he could feel the suction pulling at his shoes, sucking him down into those hideous black depths. He grappled with the post of a nearby button, holding onto it as hard as his arms could handle. He closed his eyes as rubbish flew through the air, some of them bouncing off his glasses. He felt a shard of metal slice his scalp.

_Space pulled at him. If only she would let go! She was dragging them both down! It was her fault – they both knew it was all her fault. Why wouldn't she face the consequences and just LET GO?_

But in the confusion of his brain, in that instant Wheatley had become Chell. He felt her terror as she gripped with both hands, unwilling to succumb to the vortex, fighting – as she always had before – to stay alive.

_Let go,_ screamed one part of his mind.

_Hold on_, urged the other.

Just as Wheatley decided he couldn't hold on any longer, the black hole gave up and swallowed itself whole. Wheatley flopped on the floor, gasping for air. Even the voices in his head seemed unable to form coherent thoughts at the moment.

"I would congratulate you on your strategy to take out the reassembly machines," Virgil said sourly, seemingly unaffected by what had just happened, "except that it was quite obviously an accident that you let go of the Portal Device in the first place."

"Mel is going to kill me," Wheatley moaned, getting up on hands and knees. Every muscle groaned with that simple action, threatening to dump him back on the floor again.

"She won't have a chance," said Virgil. Wheatley's heart accelerated again, hearing the whirr of Virgil's bomb launchers powering up again. "You're completely defenseless, now. Even without the other two, I can still stop you."

Right before the bombs spewed toward his position, Wheatley gave a shove with both hands and feet, launching himself upright and into a run, adrenaline giving him a momentary boost.

"How long can I keep this up?" he wondered, panting for breath and wondering if it would be his last.

**()-()**

**Mel could see the turret on the far end of the room, half-shielded by the servos. She gritted her teeth and charged it, but it saw her too soon. She heard the spurt of gunfire a moment before she felt it, searing red-hot pain into her side.**

**Mel didn't even think to use the grab beam. She simply rammed the portal gun straight into the unfriendly turret's eye, sending it spinning through the glass window behind it. Mel winced and put her hand to her side, feeling blood seeping through. She felt lightheaded. Blood loss and lack of oxygen. She really was fighting for her life, here. Luckily the bullet wounds didn't seem to be too deep.**

"**Mel?" Virgil piped up again. "We don't have much time left."**

_**As if I need a reminder**_**, Mel thought, taking her hand away from her side and back on the portal gun.**

**()-()**

Mel prodded Doctor Rattmann's arm as she saw Jack waving at the camera. "Hey, Doc?" he was calling. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," said Rattmann, leaning over the microphone, which had begun working again with Virgil's interference gone. "Have you got the bomb set up, yet?"

"Yup," said Jack. "Only… I need to stay well back to set off the detonator. I need someone else to run inside because it'll take too long. I would have made it a timed thing, but I really didn't have the equipment."

"Whoever went would have to be fast," mused Rattmann, leaning back. "Virgil has all his power and resources pooled in that one area. It might start repairing as soon as the explosion takes place. Chell is still too far away and it will take too long to open up the panels for her…" He thought for one more minute, ignoring Mel completely. Then, with a resolute expression, he leaned forward and pressed the microphone button again. "Get everything ready, Jack. I'm coming over."

Mel nearly pinched his arm to get his attention, jabbing her finger at her own chest. _Me, send me_, she thought as hard as she could.

"Miss Lance, I could not possibly send you into such danger," Doug Rattmann said soothingly. "You may be very talented at solving test chambers, but this is a matter of speed, a matter in which you have not yet been tested. I could not ask you—"

Mel scribbled on her pad and thrust it at his face. _Melody Lance: Nuremburg Olympics 1937, bronze medal winner._

Doctor Rattmann took far too long examining the paper for Mel's liking. She twisted her hands together, feeling her stomach clench. Why wasn't he saying anything? Did she think she had fabricated a lie just to get in to help Wheatley?

"Well," Doctor Rattmann said at last, "what are you standing around here for? Here's the Stimulation Recalibrator, there's the door." He handed back the notepad and the disk, giving her a little push toward the door. "I'll open the way for you."

Mel's face broke into a grateful smile and she took off running down the corridor, the panels shifting aside for her passage. This was just a jog, just to warm up her muscles. She was fast enough. She knew it. She had to be.

No bronze this time. She would be running for the gold.

**()-()**

"**The entire facility depends on you," Virgil's voice sounded worriedly from up above. "Only the turrets on the other side remain. You'll have to fling yourself in there."**

_**What?! **_** Mel shouted in a thought. Couldn't he have opened a door or made some stairs? Couldn't he see she was bleeding?**

**She shot a desperate look at the ceiling, pleading as best as she could with only her eyes. But no answer came from that direction.**

**Mel's side ached. Her muscles ached, pulling against each other. The portal gun was a dead weight in her hands. Her lungs pulled for every breath.**

**But she couldn't give in. Not now when so much depended on her. Without further complaint, mental or otherwise, Mel shot her portals and lined up for the shot.**

_**I have to do this right, in one try**_**, she thought. **

**Then she leaped.**

**()-()**

Wheatley tripped and skinned his hands as he tried to catch himself, stumbling back upright and back into his helter-skelter zig-zag gallop. That was happening more often, now. He was sure his hands had been sanded down to less than half their original skin content at this point.

He was tired. Deadly tired. At some point during the last few minutes, the realization had slowly set in just what he had gotten himself when he ducked inside those closing panels: a death sentence. Wheatley's energy could not last forever, whereas Virgil's bombs – from the looks of things – could. The buttons were all rigged, he was sure of it now. Not one had worked, and it was doubtful if any would ever work at all.

"Why are you still persisting in this?" growled Virgil, shooting off another threesome of bombs. "This would all be over sooner if you just succumbed to the inevitable and… fell over. And stayed there. Running is just a waste of precious air, as is talking. So no use doing any of that."

Despair had not set in yet. Wheatley was too afraid of death for that. His legs kept moving of their own accord, but Wheatley knew that sooner or later they would stop, maybe for a short rest only, and Virgil would be faster. But until that fateful time came, Wheatley would not stop fleeing.

And what was more, he even felt the fear ebbing away. Who was this Virgil anyway? Just another robot. Another stuck-up sphere gorged on too much power. With the absence of fear came another feeling, flooding in and giving him new strength.

"You know what? No," Wheatley snapped.

"'No' what?" Virgil spat.

"No, I'm not going to stop talking, no, I'm not going to save my breath," Wheatley yelled back, slapping a button on his way past, even though he knew by this point that it was useless. "Chell wouldn't, Mel can't, but I'm not either of them, am I? You got me instead and – guess what? – I'm not going to shut up just because you say it'll make me last longer. If- if I go out, it'll be out talking, making you just as miserable as you're making me."

"You know nothing about misery," hissed Virgil, his bombs coming out with less aim and greater momentum. "Nothing!"

"See, that's the thing!" Wheatley winced and changed direction yet again. "You act like you're all big and impressive and nobody gets what you're going through. But I do! I went through it all before! And here you are acting like you're so special, acting like you're handling it so much better than I did, even though when you were put down to it, you went through it all the exact same way as me! What- what did you think, that just because you let Mel go and kept me that it made you better somehow?"

"I am better!" shouted Virgil, whipping around as Wheatley ducked behind him. "You nearly blew up this entire facility, forgetting everything else as you tested and tested and drove yourself crazy! I'm able to maintain all the functions that keep this place active – I'm able to keep this place from self-destructing – I'm the one, not you!"

"Talk about forgetting everything," Wheatley accused, feeling pure rage course through his veins. "You knew what was happening! You had seen the recordings, you knew what signs to look for, and yet you still kept me here, you still kept testing even though you knew what would happen. At least I was flying blind; you knew what you were getting yourself into, but you still kept on with it! You just kept testing me and telling yourself it was alright since you let your girl go, even though it wasn't even half the problem solved!"

Another bomb exploded, this one so close Wheatley could feel the heat singe his skin. "I bet you don't even remember her name, now," he continued. "The girl you let go. I didn't remember Chell's."

"Oh, yes. I remember alright," Virgil snarled. "I just don't care about it anymore. My little olympian who I foolishly let wander away."

"Foolishly let wander?" Wheatley repeated, aghast. "Can't you even remember that much anymore? You forced her out of the room to keep her safe, seriously don't you remember that?"

"I thought you alone could satiate me," Virgil growled. "I thought the labyrinth would be enough, but no, no, it couldn't be that easy, could it? Your wimpy, pathetic body simply couldn't hold up to the excruciatingly simple level of the tests. You used up the Reward, all of it! I need more – more test subjects, more Reward! That olympian of mine," he whispered, making chills run up and down Wheatley's spine, "that grey-eyed test subject of yours, and the other two – the men – they're all trapped down here. I almost wish you could live long enough to see what I'll do to them."

"You'll do nothing!" shouted Wheatley.

"Oh yes I will," sneered Virgil, watching Wheatley's face turn red with a strange sort of satisfaction. "I'll test them, but not in the conventional measures – oh, no. New sorts of tests. Arenas one against the other, psychological stimulants, their darkest dreams come true. Your little test subject that you're so fond of… not the talking sort, is she? I wonder how long it'll take before I make her scream for mercy."

Wheatley gave a strangled sort of scream, a beastly sound, and charged straight at Virgil. His eyes had become filmed with a red sort of haze and he didn't know what he was doing, or what he would do when he eventually reached his destination. Who knows what would have happened if his leg hadn't snagged a bit of rubble on the floor and he tumbled, rolling onto his back. The barrel of Virgil's bomb launcher hovered only a meter away from his position.

Wheatley didn't care. He was far from caring about anything anymore. He glared up into Virgil's smug optic with enough hatred in his glare to incinerate a turret on the spot. Unfortunately, Virgil did not seem affected and glared back with his own cold sort of fury.

"But first, you," Virgil whispered.

Wheatley curled up into a ball, his hands over his ears, as the explosion burst.

**()-()**

**Mel's muscles screamed as she landed in the upper room, stumbling to a halt. But she wasn't safe there. Already two unfriendly turrets had dispensed and were staring at her with unblinking sight beams. She dodged around the servers to take them out, her side crying out as she lifted her arms to fling them away.**

**Now, for the servers.**

**Oh no.**

**She had forgotten her turret.**

**With a breath like a sob, Mel limped toward the lower door, pressing her hand against it as if by wishing she could make it open. Unsurprisingly, it did not.**

**Mel felt like crying as she dropped through the window again, going to get another friendly turret. Her lungs worked at twice their usual strength, trying their best to strain the last dregs of oxygen out of the air. Her vision was blurred. She couldn't see the countdown clock anymore. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.**

_**So, this is it, then?**_** Mel wondered to herself. **_**This is what it's like to die?**_

**()-()**

Wheatley slowly uncurled himself, realizing that the explosion – there was one, he was sure of that! – had not been near him. Even though the floor had shaken and he had been sure for about ten seconds that he had been killed, the evidence showed otherwise.

Virgil hung above him in shock. His attention had been completely diverted away from his intended target and now he stared, optic unblinking, at the enormous smoldering hole that had cracked his dome open.

Through the haze of smoke and the flicker of still burning flame, a figure was approaching, running at top speed. As Wheatley watched, half raised on one elbow, Virgil's optic narrowed and he raised his barrels, but not to point at Wheatley. This time they were pointing at the new entrance. The panels had begun to shift and mend themselves over the hole already, but Wheatley sensed that they weren't moving as quickly as they might have, nor were they starting from the bottom up. They were closing from the top down. Virgil was allowing the visitor straight access to his bombs.

Wheatley had no plan. He had no wits left. He had very little sense in general. He had no idea whatsoever what made him act the way he was presently acting. If anything, he should still have been lying down on the ground in a daze or sprinting away from that situation as fast as his legs could carry him. But instead, he found himself running in the opposite direction, towards the danger. Toward Virgil. He had no idea why he did this, other than the thought that the figure coming through the smoke was someone that he knew. They were too shadowed to be recognizable yet, but none of the possible selections were promising. Because in that moment between realization and running, the notion had sped through Wheatley's mind: what if it was Chell coming down here? Wonderful, clever Chell who he had known for so long? What if it was her?

Or what if it was Doug Rattmann, his scientist friend? Or Jack, the one who made Chell so happy?

What if it was Mel?

Wheatley was not 'very' anything. He was not very smart, or very patient, very shallow, or very complex. He was not very kind, nor extremely unkind. Arguably, he was not very dim, except in certain circumstances, nor counted among the very bright. He was not very handsome, or very ugly. Not very outgoing, but not exactly shy either. Wheatley himself would claim that he was not very brave, but his actions had shown that he was not very much of a coward, either. There may have been times where he might have been very any of those things, but not all of them all the time. The only thing he was 'very' all the time was tall. And that turned out to be a very good thing at this moment.

Wheatley, without having a plan of any sort in his brain at that moment, used all six feet seven inches of himself to his advantage. The height that was awkward most of the time was now helpful as he reached, grasping desperately, fingers stretching to their ultimate length, and just barely clasping their prize: Virgil's handlebars.

Wheatley pulled.

He pulled with all his strength, wishing he was a hundred pounds heavier, dragging Virgil's core farther towards the ground. Virgil gave a surprised shout and twisted in his hands, but Wheatley was determined not to let go.

_I need to be like space_, he thought. _I need to be so unforgiving, not to let him go._

The voices in his head, which had calmed to an irritated buzz before, came back and he let them fuel his wrenching. He felt the pull of space again, sucking him down farther, and he embraced it, imagining Virgil being pulled with him.

"_Let go! Let go, I'm still connected! I can pull myself in!"_

Virgil's optic was so bright and so close to his face. It blazed an imprint even when his eyes were closed.

"_I already fixed it."_

_I did,_ Wheatley thought. _I am fixing it, right here, right now._

"…_And you are not coming back."_

Virgil's optic was narrowing. Wheatley could see him thinking, but he was resolved. He could not let go, not now.

"_Change of plan! Hold onto me! Tighter!"_

Wheatley heard the crackle of electricity before he felt it. Virgil's whole body had become a massive conductor, sparking like a firework. Wheatley went numb as his nervous system absorbed the full impact, his head snapping back, body jerking.

_He felt the separation from the System, everything transitioning over to a new power. The test subject, her face pale as all blood was drained away from it, still held onto his handles, but not for long. "Grab me," he screamed as her fingers gave way. "Grab me, __grab me__…! __Grab me__, __grab me__…!...!...!"_

Wheatley dropped to the floor.

**()-()**

**Mel's knees almost gave way as she landed in the upper room for the second time, but this time around she had a friendly turret clutched in her grab beam. The unfriendly turrets had dispensed yet again and Mel put her back to the servers, trying to avoid them. **

**Her head whirled. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt, actually. Mel's eyeballs felt like they were being sucked out of their sockets.**

_**Can't stop now. Must keep going**_**, she thought. With an effort, Mel launched herself at the new turrets and hurled them away, shielding herself from their fire.**

**She positioned her turret to shoot the servos and stepped aside, gasping feebly for air. **_**Now I know what a fish out of water feels like**_**, she thought, feeling numbness spread through her body. She leaned against the nearby desk, the turret's shooting subsiding to a ringing murmur in her ears.**

"**Error, error," AEGIS sounded. "Alternating server control failing. All non-vital systems terminating."**

**Mel snapped awake again, gulping in deep breaths of delicious air. She had done it! She really had! Although she had missed the last few seconds of the turret's action, she could now see that while she had been drifting unconscious it had done the job for her. With its final shot it had overheated and blown itself up. Mel was the only one left inside that room.**

"**Power redirecting to manual control. User input required," AEGIS finished. "Voice control deactivating in three… two… one…"**

"**This is it," Virgil said as Mel dropped painfully down through the broken window and made her way out towards AEGIS' chamber. He sounded relieved. "If you could get inside the mainframe and shut it down, we'll be home free. You can leave and I can live forever! So, whenever you're ready, get in the mainframe and shut him down."**

**()-()**

Virgil jerked away, letting his Test Subject fall to the floor. He looked at him in disgust. What a stupid thing to attempt! Did he seriously believe that he could pull him apart just like that? His core was part of the System, now, integrated with enough wires to encircle Aperture. Thinking that he could be pulled down from his throne was a foolish assumption, and it had cost the Test Subject his life.

Oh, right. There was another threat now.

Virgil swung around to face his new guest, from whom he had been temporarily distracted. He caught a glimpse of wild red hair, a mouth wide open as if it was screaming although no sound came out, and eyes that were spitting fire and shining with hurt and betrayal. His Olympian had come.

Virgil had barely enough time to make a noise before the Olympian was upon him, slapping something down on top of his core and making angry gestures he could not understand. Virgil felt a shiver go through the entirety of Aperture and shuddered, himself.

"What is this you've put on me?" he roared, trying to twist around and examine the thing. "What is-?"

That was as far as he got before the thing began to take effect.

Whatever that thing was, it was potent. Files he didn't know were there began to unlock, spilling out an overwhelming amount of code and amending it, going through his System like a virus, resetting some things, completely overwriting others. In the span of an instant, it was done, leaving Virgil confused, with a dull, hollow feeling in his mind, as if something he had been seeking after for years was just discovered to have been dead and buried a long time ago.

He flicked his optic over at the Olympian, searching for answers. "What did you—"

She slapped him. Hard. Virgil felt anger bubble through him yet again and reared upright, bristling. How dare she? How _dare_ she? Did she not know who he was? The master and ruler of this place, supreme protector of everything within the walls of this facility? Why, he could kill her as easily as thinking! She was so little and puny and… and…

And crying.

Virgil's anger halted in its tracks as he realized in an afterthought that there had been tears in the Olympian's blazing eyes. They were turned away before he could get a second and better sight and he saw her stumble over to the limp shape of his Test Subject, shaking his arm and patting his face, wordlessly pleading for him to get up.

"M… Mel…"

The name was stale in his mind, deeply buried underneath a pile of apathy, which had just now begun to deteriorate, leaving the fossilized memories easier to grasp. Mel. Of course her name was Mel! Not Olympian, and certainly not _his_ olympian.

"Mel," he tried it out again. "Mel, I…"

She lashed out at him with a swipe of her arm and a glare, returning to the motionless figure she knelt before. _Wheatley_, Virgil remembered with a start. That man down there who he had tested, threatened, and mocked into near despair… the one who he had filled with enough electricity to power a generator just because he was trying to keep him from shooting Mel… he was… oh no.

"What have I done?" Virgil whispered.

**()-()**

**Mel stood on top of AEGIS, feeling like Alexander the Great. A bruised and very battered Alexander the Great, but a triumphant one. She stared down at the hatch on AEGIS' 'back', inscribed with the blue-black letters 'AEGIS' Prototype 0.05a, and also a large blue sign which stated 'No Entry'. As she watched, the hatch gave a hiss and slid open. With some reluctance, she entered.**

**Inside was a little room, presumably for a maintenance person to sit. The area almost seemed like a cubical, fitted with a chair to sit on, a desk, and a computer which took up the entire circumference of the room. There were a few nick-nacks on the desktop and sitting on the computers, but Mel was too distracted to pay them much mind. She stepped forward and slid into the seat, feeling her muscles sigh as she relieved them.**

"**Ooh," Virgil exclaimed, his voice echoing slightly. "That seems to be the user control interface. You can control its entire functions from here!"**

**The screen in front of Mel lit up blue and a white hexagon began to form, shaping the AEGIS logo. Then it began to blink with numbers and loading screens, whizzing by almost too quickly for Mel's bewildered eyes to track.**

"**I can walk you through some of what you need to do. First things first: stop the toxic goo from pumping up."**

**Now the screen had resolved to show several options in white text: Enable Server Access, Release Third System Valve, Deactivate Toxin Pumps, Delete System 32, and Activate Swipe – dot – exe. Mel stared at all these in bemusement, wondering where to begin.**

"**We should be able to contain it in Test Shaft Lema Whiskey," Virgil added as Mel began poking the 'down' key on the keyboard in front of her, getting the cursor to circle the option 'Deactivate Toxin Pumps'. After a slight pause, she located the enter key and pressed it.**

**Toxin Pumps Deactivated, the screen read.**

**Mel picked up the mouse and moved the cursor manually over to the little red button at the top. 'Shut Down System', it read.**

'**Initiate A.E.G.I.S Shutdown Sequence?' the screen prompted. Mel moved the cursor toward 'yes'.**

"**W-wait, Mel," Virgil called and Mel waited for commands. "Before shutting this thing down completely… remember that there was a third target it was trying to take out? Well, we're not three… unless you can tell me otherwise."**

**Mel waited, trying to see what his point was.**

"**Try to see what you can do," Virgil suggested.**

**Mel examined the screen again. Beneath the query and her options, there was a third paragraph in yellow font. Press 'c' to administer additional commands, it read. Mel pressed the 'c' key.**

**Virgil administered instructions on what to type, and to Mel's surprise her own fingers sped swiftly over the keyboard. She must have had a typewriter way back when, she decided, surprised that she knew how to type so quickly. Virgil went dead silent as Mel hit the enter key and the screen flashed once more.**

**It read:**

_**Target Classification: Mechanical_2**_

_**GLaDOS**_

_**Name: Genetic Life and Disc Operating System**_

_**Class: Central Core**_

_**Status: Offline**_

"**Am… a-am I reading this right?" Virgil questioned. "Was this thing trying to destroy… Her? It was targeting GLaDOS?"**

**Mel had a sinking feeling. From what Virgil had said, what they had just done was just as bad as if they had just saved Hitler. AEGIS had been trying to rid Aperture of the true evil. She and Virgil had simply been in the crossfire, the wrong place at the wrong time. And she had stopped it.**

"**Mel." Virgil's voice was soft and dismal. "What have we done?"**

**()-()**

As swiftly as he could, Virgil opened up the panels from the dome to their base, making sure that the rest of the humans outside could easily access their location. They came in one at a time, each one acting defensive and looking around for a trap. He had no trap. He wasn't even paying attention to them, much. His optic was fixed on Mel, leaning over Wheatley.

She had begun chest compressions, alternated with mouth-to-mouth. Her motions were frantic, each thrust at Wheatley's chest a desperate till for life. Her strained breathing echoed throughout the quiet chamber. Virgil could hear the Rat doctor murmuring, but nothing from the others. Wheatley did not move a muscle, not even when Mel's tears dripped onto his cheek.

"Mel, here," Virgil said, lifting up a panel from the floor and stretching out a padded metal extension. "Let me—"

Mel flung out an arm, interposing herself between the arm and Wheatley, her hands flying with angry words he could not understand.

"Mel, no, I understand, but… here's a defibrillator," he tried to explain. "I'm not trying to hurt him, please just let me—"

She gave another furious thrust with her hands and turned back to Wheatley, pumping even harder and faster than before.

"Please, Mel," Virgil begged. "You can't keep that up forever. Let me help."

Mel stopped pumping and curled in on herself, crying with silent sobs that wracked her entire body. Jack, with a sideways look at Chell, stepped forward and began to drag Mel to the side. She tried feebly to fight back, but all her energy was gone.

"If you try anything…" Rattmann threatened, fixing Virgil with a baleful glare.

"I won't," Virgil promised, gently tugging open Wheatley's shirt with his metal talons, popping a few buttons in the process, and fixing the defibrillators on his bared chest and side. He heard everyone inhale a breath as he made contact. "Okay, on three," Virgil said, mostly to himself. "One… two… three. Clear."

Wheatley's entire body jerked as the defibrillators shocked him. But, Virgil noted with concern, his heart did not start up. "Once more," he muttered. "One… two… three… clear."

Wheatley jolted and his eyelids shot open. He sucked in a giant, panicking breath and swiped the air madly with his arms. He screamed out an inane stream of words that sounded to the rest of the room like "Grabmegrabmegrabmegrabmegrabme!"

Mel twisted her arm loose from Jack's hold and sprinted over to Wheatley, almost colliding with Chell on her way there, as she had done the same thing. Chell, who had been a little bit closer, gained custody of both Wheatley's hands and clutched them close. His hands tightened on hers and his staring eyes drifted blankly over her face. Mel gripped Wheatley's shoulder and stroked the side of his face with her hand, crying again, but this time with happier tears.

In a moment, Wheatley coughed and relaxed, the blank look disappearing from his face as the voices – finally – ebbed. "Hello, luv," he croaked, looking blearily at Chell. He raised his hands weakly and examined hers, which still clutched his. "You caught me," he laughed, smiling. This seemed to sap what little strength he had left because he drooped, his head slumping to the side. "Hey, Mel," he mumbled with a little grin. "Happy you're still around."

Virgil observed all this with a mixture of emotions. Relief that Wheatley was alive, pain to see the women cling to him, fear of what might have happened, and to top it all off was a mountainload of guilt and self-remorse.

Out loud he said, "Here's a rolling table you can use as a stretcher. He'll be fine after this, I think, but you should probably get him out of here." He raised a panel and brought in a table, loaded with papers and vials and books. Jack and Rattmann unloaded its contents onto the floor, then Mel helped Jack lift Wheatley onto the table. Wheatley made a weak exclamation of pain as they moved him, making his carriers wince.

Virgil brought down an elevator from the ceiling. "This'll take you straight to the top floor," he said. "I… I wish I could do more."

_But you probably wouldn't let me,_ he finished silently.

The elevator was only just big enough to admit Jack and Mel with the table. Virgil noticed that Mel did not meet his eye as she rose upwards. Her eyes were fixed on Wheatley and her hand was gently grasping his. This somehow made the pain for Virgil even more acute.

"Chell," Virgil heard the Rat doctor murmur. "There's still a loose end to tie up."

He saw Chell nod and turn to him. If Mel's eyes had been raging with fire, Chell's were piercing with ice. Virgil was immediately fixed with terror and memories flashed in his mind of the recordings he had seen, how she had taken down two AIs armed with only a portal gun and her mind. Although she was now minus the portal gun, the downright baleful glare in her eyes showed that the desire for vengeance would make up for the rest.

"No need, no need," Virgil exclaimed hastily. "I'll come quietly. Here. Here's the button." He brought it out from its hiding place, hidden behind a raised panel, letting the black tiles rearrange themselves like a jigsaw puzzle so the button was brought forward. "Just… before you press it… I'd just like to say for the record… that… I am so sorry for what I did to your friend. I have no excuse and I'll accept any punishment you decide to meet out for me."

Chell gave a short nod to signal her understanding although her frosty look did not change. Stepping forward, she pressed the button.

Chell's glare was the last thing Virgil saw before the shields rose up and the robot arms began to pull him apart. Separation from the Disk Operating System was painful, but even more painful was the thought: _Wheatley was right_. _I did everything just the way he had done it, but better, and that made it worse. I deserve this pain._

**()-()**

"**Well, if you want to get out of here, now is your best chance," Virgil said as Mel watched the text on the screen display Virgil as target number two, and her own name (last name redacted) as target number three. "You don't want to be around when She comes back online. You should shut down AEGIS now."**

**With more respect than she had previously held, Mel moved the cursor again to click on 'Shut Down System'. When it prompted her, she clicked 'yes'.**

**It blared at her and yellow text appeared, reading: **_**Termination Cycle Pass-code Required. **_**There were four spaces beneath it.**

"**Needs a pass-code?" Virgil gritted. He sounded abnormally irritated. "It should be around here somewhere. Take a look around."**

**Mel's eyes flitted to a yellow sticky note she had noticed earlier, stuck to the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. The red numbers on it looked strangely familiar, and she couldn't help but know that it was the right one. Slowly, poking the keyboard with one finger, she keyed it in.**

_**2-0-5-6.**_

"**Twenty Fifty-Six?" Virgil repeated as the numbers were accepted. "I've seen that number around a lot in this place. Strange…"**

_**Shutdown Sequence Initiated**_**, proclaimed the screen in red.**

"**It's done," said Virgil. "It's done. Ha. AEGIS is in its final shutdown sequence. Mel, come back to the lift. I can get you out of this facility."**

**Mel, with a long breath, turned around and began to climb the yellow ladder behind her. It was time to ascend to the surface.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Judgement

**Chapter Fifteen**

**The Judgement**

Virgil was stored away in a dusty, cluttered storage area to serve as a cell, set on top of an old Weighted Storage Cube, and left alone in the semi-darkness to wait. The Rat Doctor had disabled his battery saver setting and his sleep mode, so he had nothing to do but wait as his memories and imagination did their best to drive him insane. If these people had been particularly cruel, Virgil thought, they would also have disabled his internal clock so he wouldn't know how much time was passing. Maybe it would have been better if they did. Watching the seconds tick slowly by was agonizing.

Not that he didn't deserve it. He did, every moment, every second of powerless solitude. This temporary punishment was just, and although it was uncomfortable, he had no reason to complain of unfairness.

It wasn't unlike the time he fell off his management rail, before he met Mel. Back then, however, he had been desperate to find any way out. He had expended almost all his energy trying to use Wi-Fi to figure out a solution to his situation. But not this time. He conserved his energy, keeping only his basic systems online. No need to escape. He deserved this.

In his isolation, Virgil had plenty of time to think about what he had done, running over every unkind word or deed a thousand times over. He had overdone it, he knew, with his actions and everything else.

More than anything Virgil wanted to place the blame on his madness. The Urge had made him do it, it was all the fault of the System! But no. After even a second of consideration toward that end, Virgil quenched that thought. Even if the System had placed the Urge in him, he should have been able to control himself better than that. He should have fought against it harder, not given in like he did.

"Eh, Wheatley was right," Virgil said out loud to himself – he was doing that more often as time ticked onwards. "I _was_ worse than him. I knew what was happening and I still went along with it. How could I be so stupid?" And he banged his lower handlebar against the top of the cube in remorse.

It seemed that eternity passed before somebody opened the door to join him. Virgil squinted – his optic had become accustomed to the dark and the light outside was painful – and saw a slim figure slip inside. The door was closed and the figure resolved itself into a woman. Virgil felt guilt swirl anew as he realized who that woman was.

"Hey, Mel," he said, the words hollow in his vocal processer. He examined her, trying to gauge what her temper might be.

Mel's jaw was tight – a bad sign. Although her eyes were void of the flames that had filled them at their parting, they still smoldered bright as coals ready to be reawakened by slightest provocation. But she was here. With him. Whether she was here to vent her frustration, administer more punishment, or just have a chat was a guess at this point. Although Virgil longed to say something to follow up his greeting, common sense choked him dumb.

Mel brushed of an adjacent storage cube and pulled it up next to him like a seat. She lay down a large notepad on her lap and began writing very deliberately with a pen. Virgil craned forward, but Mel tipped the notepad up so he couldn't see until she was done. Then she turned it around and Virgil read the one word she had written: _Explain._

Virgil did, to the best of his ability. He started with an apology, which he felt Mel barely listened to, and then went on from the beginning, starting when everything went all wrong.

"I knew I was in a bad situation," he described, "but I just couldn't find a good way to get out of it myself. You and Wheatley had to come and press the button. And when I saw you through the cameras… I made the mistake of assuming I could figure it out while you rested. A very big mistake, apparently, because it took away the precious time I had that might have spent without the influence of that Urge."

Virgil paused to see how Mel was taking this. She still looked tense. He continued.

"Anyway, when you woke up and kept going I tried to keep it back. At the beginning it was pretty easy. Just keep myself distracted, keep doing maintenance on the test chambers… same stuff I usually do but on a bigger level, basically. So, anyway, after a while… distraction stopped working. You- you can't guess just what the Urge does to you, it just… testing becomes the only thing you think about. I knew that if I started testing I wouldn't be able to stop, but after a certain point I just didn't care anymore. I just wanted that feeling to go away!"

Virgil twitched impulsively, remembering how it felt to be tormented in such a fashion. Mel didn't seem to care. She crossed one leg over another, looking down into her lap.

"Finally… I gave in. I put a test chamber in your way. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. Wheatley saw through the whole thing, of course, since he'd been through the whole thing before. He- he tried to warn me, even – several times – but I just didn't listen. And when I did… it was kind of too late. When I figured out just what I was doing, I tried to get you out of there. But you were so thickheaded as to not – you even tried to take Wheatley out with you! I know, I know," Virgil added as Mel jerked her notepad upright again with flashing eyes, "it was the right thing to do. If I had been sane about this, I would have let you both go and disabled my tracking devices so both of you could get away. I could have used the Cooperative Testing Initiative Robots if the Urge got really bad, but…" Virgil made a shrugging motion, "but I didn't even think about that.

"I wanted you to leave Wheatley. I _needed_ you to leave Wheatley behind. But, as you obviously weren't doing that, I provided a bit of incentive. It was wrong of me, I see that now, but at the time… it seemed like the only option. Saving you… and keeping Wheatley."

Mel began writing on her notepad again. When she was done, she flipped it around for Virgil to read: _'If this apology is only for me, forget it'_, the note read. _'I'm not the one you hurt'._

"No, no, I know that," Virgil exclaimed. "What I did to you is only one side of the picture! I _used_ Wheatley to get what I wanted, and that's a terrible, low down, despicable thing to do! I thought that by keeping Wheatley, he'd be the only one I was hurting. But, again, I was wrong." Virgil winced again. How many more times would he have to say he was wrong? He hated being wrong! But there it was.

"I think… I think I hurt you worse by keeping him than if I had kept you instead," Virgil admitted. "I didn't realize how much of a part Wheatley was of this whole Aperture team. He's the heart, and by hurting him… I hurt everything. I realize that, now. I'm apologizing to you, of course, because you're here right now, but… if I could, I would apologize to Wheatley. He's- he's the one I… enslaved."

Virgil saw Mel begin to loosen, but he didn't dare look up into her eyes.

"He even knew what was going on – he tried to help me! Even though he didn't like me that much," he added in a mumble. "So, if you see him… tell him that for me, will you? Tell him that Virgil says he's sorry. For everything."

Mel nodded. Her hands rested more easily on her knees, now, and Virgil even dared a look up at her face. "How… how is he?" he asked.

'Better', Mel answered via paper. 'They put him next to Caroline at the hospital. He has a few broken ribs, a slight concussion, and needs some detoxing because of the gels, but he'll be alright.'

"That's good to hear," mused Virgil, thinking about how guilty he would be if Wheatley had actually died.

'Wheatley's the one who wanted me to come down here,' Mel wrote. 'He said that if you wanted to apologize, I should listen to you. He also said that if you didn't want to apologize, I should walk out and never look at you again,' she added as a scribbled afterthought.

"Well, that Wheatley," Virgil shrugged. "He's been through it all before."

Mel nodded thoughtfully and for a moment they sat in silence.

"What… er… what do you think my punishment will be?" Virgil asked, hastily following up with, "I'll accept anything, I know I deserve it, it's just… agh, I just don't know what I should be preparing for."

Mel thought for a minute, and then shrugged, her eyes apologetic. 'Chell and the others are not happy,' she wrote, 'but I don't think they'll turn you off for good.'

"Oh," Virgil said. "O-okay."

This told him pretty much nothing, except that Android Hell was still an option. He winced at the thought. Well, he did just say that he deserved anything they could dish out. But still, it wouldn't be pleasant.

Mel stood, obviously intending to leave. 'I'll tell them what you said,' her notepad stated, and Mel gave Virgil the slightest hint of a smile as she turned to leave.

"Mel? Hey, Mel?"

She stopped and turned back around to face him. Virgil felt a twinge as he realized that he didn't know why he had stopped her, or how to make her stay. He didn't want to be alone again, watching the seconds click past, but everything he had wanted to say had already been said.

"I just wanted to ask: what… er… what does Wheatley think of me? Now?" he asked awkwardly.

Mel wrote and held out her notepad to him. 'You'll have to wait and see. Your hearing will be tomorrow. You can talk to them all then.'

"But…!" Virgil started to insist, but then stopped. Accept the punishment. "Yes, of course," he said, settling down. "I'll… I'll wait for tomorrow. Will you be there, Mel?"

Mel nodded shortly. Her eyes glanced over him once more, she gave a half wave, and departed, closing the door behind her.

Virgil sighed, hearing his inner mechanisms creak. Tomorrow. Everything would be decided tomorrow.

**()-()**

**Mel limped her way toward the elevator, holding her side. Virgil hung on his management rail, appraising her with a shining optic. She couldn't tell if he looked relieved, happy, or sad to see her leave.**

"**Okay, Mel," Virgil said. "The elevator is in lockdown until you put your Portal Device in the incinerator over there."**

**Mel felt a slight twinge as she pulled out Old Reliable. It had a comforting heft to it, she decided. And, as its name implied, it had been reliable to the end. It was probably a sign of severe brain trauma to feel attached to a gun, but Mel felt almost sorry for the thing as she laid it gently on the belt leading to the incinerator. It subsided with a final hum, the last tendrils of green electricity fading from its transparent body, and the belt began to revolve, carrying it away into the incinerator.**

**Mel turned, trying not to feel too guilty about incinerating Old Reliable, and walked toward the elevator. Who knew a hollow glass cylinder could be so beautiful or that it could hold such hope?**

**But before she got to the tantalizing doors, Mel paused. What would happen to Virgil? Was she just going to leave him down here? She turned a questioning glance up at her friend. **_**Was this it?**_** Mel tried to convey in her eyes. **_**Was this the end of their adventure together?**_

"**Um, ah… Mel," Virgil stammered. His eye darted around, avoiding hers. "I- I just wanted to… say something." He forced his optic to focus on her face. "Thank you. Thank you so much! Really. If- if it weren't for you, I would have drowned at the offices in the junkyard. I'm so sorry about lying to you in the beginning." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "It was a pretty bad Cave Johnson impression."**

**Virgil laughed again and Mel smiled up at him, feeling a rippling warmth spread through her chest, the multiple aches in her body dimming just slightly.**

"**Anyway," Virgil continued, looking up at the elevator, "this thing should take you out of here back to your normal life. Well, whatever you can call normal by this point. I don't know exactly what's out there," he admitted with a shake, "but it should be better than what's down here. So… just… enjoy the rest of your life." **

**He seemed to be smiling. The shadows of the incoming lift striped the walls, casting a film over Virgil's core. Mel's heart gave a lurch. She was leaving. She was leaving all of this. Some parts of their adventure had been frightening, it was true, but what was that to the fear of the unknown?**

"**Look, the elevator is here," said Virgil as the doors rotated open. Now he was definitely smiling, but it was a bittersweet appearance. "See you later, Mel," he said.**

**Mel stepped toward the elevator as if pulled against her will, although her eyes were still fixed on Virgil. She wished she could convey to him just how much his parting words had meant to her, how much she wanted to convey his thanks back at him tenfold. But she couldn't. So she smiled with as much brightness as she could and stepped into the elevator with as much boldness as she could muster.**

**She kept her eyes on Virgil until the facility walls blocked him from sight and she could see him no more.**

**()-()**

The time could not pass quickly enough. In a bizarre contradiction of feelings, Virgil began to wish, as the event drew nearer, that it would never come at all. Anxiety began to gnaw at his circuits. What if they decided not to let him talk? What if they threw him into Android Hell? What if…

He tried to stop himself from thinking this way, cutting off his own thoughts as soon as they became unbearable, but up they would pop again, like a virus in his system.

Virgil's wires gave a strange twist as the door opened for the second time, letting in another blinding beam of light. He squinted hard and was barely able to make out the dim silhouettes of the two cooperative testing robots – Atlas and P-Body. Well, they had been reassembled, had they? Good. Good for them.

"Ah, hello," Virgil greeted them uncomfortably.

They didn't seem to take much notice of him, looking at one another and chittering, waving their arms as if deciding what to do with him. P-Body waved Atlas forward and the blue-eyed robot stepped toward Virgil, feet tapping loudly on the floor as he approached. Virgil winced as Atlas's mechanical hand closed around his upper handlebar, lifting him off his perch. Atlas's grasp was firm and Virgil found himself borne out the door and down a long, white corridor. There was plenty enough time for his mind to begin to race.

The robots opened a door and carried him in. Inside was a meeting room. A long table with several seats lay in the middle, and near the far end of that long table sat a lone man. The Rat Doctor. Next to him sat a companion cube, and behind him in the far corner Virgil could see a dented white turret. His fans kicked up into overdrive. Was this like a threat, having a turret in here? Was the executioner present during the hearing?

He wasn't sure what the rusted hoop was here for, though. It stood right behind the turret. Virgil couldn't even figure out what it was for. Strange.

The Rat Doctor looked up from his clipboard as they approached, made a small noise of acknowledgement, and waved the robots to set Virgil down on the table. They did and, after making sure he was sturdily upright, left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

The Rat Doctor put down his clipboard, leaning forward to peer at Virgil. "The trial will begin in a few minutes," he said. "When the others get here."

"Thank you," said Virgil, determined to be humble since he had no pride left. "I- I appreciate that, really."

The Rat Doctor seemed to make a scant nod, but Virgil couldn't be sure. "I might as well introduce myself," he said. "My name is Doctor Douglas Rattmann."

Virgil shrunk a bit inside. He had gotten his name wrong already! Even if he had only said it in his mind, he still hated being wrong.

Well, better get used to that.

"Pleased… ah… pleased to meet you," Virgil said.

There was silence for a few minutes. Doctor Rattmann was apparently doodling on his paper, so Virgil amused himself by counting the ceiling tiles. He had just gotten to tile five hundred and twenty-nine when he heard a thumping coming from the direction of the door behind Doctor Rattmann, along with a great deal of talking. Virgil felt a mix of amusement and dread. Wheatley had arrived.

There was a muffled chuckle and then the door was pushed open by Chell. Behind her, wreathed in smiles, was Wheatley, his arm in a sling but still looking as happy as a lark. "Make way, make way for the invalids," he laughed, edging his way around Chell into the room. "Hello Doug Rattmann! Oh." Virgil flinched as Wheatley's eyes fell on him. He didn't miss how Wheatley's smile flickered. "Ah… Hel-hello, Virgil."

"Hello," Virgil greeted, feeling awkward.

There was a strangely long pause. Then Wheatley's excited look came back as he turned to Doctor Rattmann. "Ooh, I almost forgot! Doug Rattmann, look who we brought with us! Hey, come on in, he's prepared now!"

Virgil saw a shift in the shadows beyond the doorway as another figure came forward. Then Rattmann rocketed up from his seat as the figure came into the light.

"Caroline!" Doctor Rattmann exclaimed. Virgil saw him tremble in place as if unsure whether to run forward or stay put. "You're awake!" he turned to Chell and Wheatley. "Why didn't you tell me she was awake?"

"We wanted it to be a surprise!" Wheatley cheered as Chell led the woman into the room. "And- and it pretty much looked like it succeeded, didn't we? I mean, you should've seen the look on your face. Ah, absolutely priceless. Here- here, Caroline. Here, sit down here. Head of the table, right here. There you are."

"Thank you, Wheatley," said the woman, gratefully sinking into place.

Caroline looked weak and pale, but there was a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Rattmann, still looking frazzled, hastily pulled out his chair again and sat down beside her. "When… when did this happen?" he asked. "What _did_ happen, come to think of it? I had my guessed, but…"

"GLaDOS and I had a… disagreement," Caroline told him. The crinkles around her eyes deepened as if she was smiling. "I just needed to remind myself who I am now, rather than who I was back then. I don't think She'll be back."

Rattmann nodded several times very fast. "Good, good," he murmured. "But… Caroline, you shouldn't be here. You should be recuperating at the hospital."

"Ha," laughed Wheatley. "Just try and stop her. Chell did, but I think Caroline might have run her over if she tried any harder."

Caroline grinned, and next turned her attention to Virgil, who was pierced by the strength behind her eyes. "So, this is the core, is it?" she asked. "Chell and Wheatley both told me their sides of the story on the way here. I am interested to hear the rest. You must be Virgil."

"Ah, yes. Yep. That's- that's me," Virgil stammered. "And… you must be Miss Caroline."

"That's right." Caroline's brown eyes were soft, yet penetrating. Without looking away from Virgil, Caroline motioned to Rattmann. "Give me the damage report. And his file. I presume you have both?"

"Oh, yes," said Rattmann, shuffling the papers together and handing them to Caroline.

"Very good." Caroline shot Rattmann a smile before leaning over to read.

Wheatley was staring intently in Virgil's direction, but when Virgil turned to look back, Wheatley became very interested in the fake plant in the corner. Virgil wanted to speak to him. He wanted so very badly to say something.

"I- I'm sorry."

He had forgotten that anybody else was in the room, but now that the words had come out, became painfully aware of the fact that every eye – including Caroline's – was fixed on him. Virgil looked down, unnerved by Wheatley's gaze. "I… I just… I just wanted to tell you that," Virgil muttered at the table. "Just… yeah. That I wish I had never done all those things to you. Any of it. All of it. I wish I could take it back, or that it had happened to me instead. I'm… sorry."

Wheatley squirmed in his seat, looking down at his clasped hands. He stayed silent for so long that Chell had to nudge his shoulder to make him speak.

"Yes, I know, I know," he said, nodding up at her. "I'm just…" Wheatley ruffled his hair. "Just trying to figure out the words, thanks. I'm just… not really sure how to respond yet. I mean- I mean I believe you and everything, but…" Wheatley hunted for the right words. He looked at Virgil straight in the optic. "I understand what happened to you. I prob- I probably understand better than anyone in this room, matter of fact, but… um… but I can't deny that you did this to me." Wheatley raised his wrapped arm an inch from its place. Both he and Virgil winced. "What you did to all of us… it hurt. It's weird being in Chell's position through all this, getting what she felt back then. It took her ages to forgive me. I'm not- I'm not going to take ages… but it is going to take some time. I acknowledge that you're sorry, I get that, I believe that… but I'm not ready to forgive you just yet. So… sorry too, I guess."

Virgil looked down, nodding. "Alright," he said. "It's more than I expected, I guess."

"I'm not angry at you," Wheatley clarified. "I get it, I get all of it. It's just… still too soon, I think? And- and… for what it's worth…" Wheatley paused and looked around the room before screwing up his courage, apparently trying to forget than anyone else other than Virgil was in the room. "Thank you. For letting Mel go, I mean. 'M still not happy with the method that you used, but… you did… um…" Wheatley seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. His eyes shifted. "…You did a good job. With that. Getting her out, I mean," he finished in a rush. "So… good job. Well done, you. And all that."

Virgil was surprised. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this. The last thing he had expected out of this meeting was to end up being thanked for something he did. "Ahh… thanks?" he answered at last.

Just then, Mel crept into the room. Her hair was disheveled as if she had run all the way there and stopped right outside the door, cautiously entering. Virgil felt a momentary lift from seeing her.

"Mel! Hey!" Wheatley rose from his seat, knocking his legs underneath the bottom of the table and stumbling over to greet her. "Come on in, come on in! C'mon, don't be shy. We're all friends here. All good friends."

Mel signed something, still looking a bit embarrassed. "Oh, no, no," Wheatley answered. "You're right on time. Here, sit- sit right here. Ooh waitwaitwait, first," he made an abrupt about-face, "you have to meet Caroline. Here she is! Caroline, meet Mel. Mel, meet Caroline. Go on, she won't bite." He waved Mel forward. The two women shook hands.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lance," Caroline said. Virgil could see her smiling. He grinned a little bit to himself. People had that reaction from Mel. Immediately likable, that was his olympian. "Wheatley has told me all about you."

Virgil saw Wheatley's skin coloration turn from its regular pale hue to a rosy shade of red. "I didn't- not… not that much," he stammered. Both Caroline and Mel ignored him.

Mel signed something to Caroline, rather shyly. Virgil followed her fingers with his optic. He would need to learn sign language eventually. If they didn't flash incinerate him first, of course.

"Ooh, she said- she said it's nice to meet you," Wheatley translated eagerly, still a bit pink, "and…" he stopped to read some more gestures, "she also says that she thinks she… remembers you?" Wheatley looked at Mel in evident surprise. "Um… she- she remembers your voice right before she fell asleep in the… sleeping chamber… thing. And she wonders if you remember her."

Caroline appraised Mel, her eyes narrowing as she tried to recall a deep-seeded memory. "I do, I think," Caroline said at last. "You were one of the first test subjects for the Extended Relaxation Vault, weren't you?"

Mel nodded.

"Ah, yes." Caroline's brow clenched and she looked apologetic. "You were told you were only supposed to stay the one night, am I correct?"

Mel nodded again, a little more dubiously.

"I don't remember everything, but I believe Mr. Johnson was a bit untruthful about the true nature of the test. He told you one night, but he wanted to test it for longer periods. The chemicals we pumped into your tube… they turned out to be too strong. We couldn't even open the pod for fear of flooding the rest of that testing shaft with the chemicals. It knocked you out for far longer than we ever wanted. We needed to wait until the chemical flow automatically defused, but… I… I can't remember why we didn't." Caroline slumped somewhat, the effort of remembering draining her existing strength. "I know there's nothing we can do about it now, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the years you've lost in your own time."

Mel shook her head and began signing again. Wheatley translated, "She says there's no need to be sorry. She says that if not for the faulty pod she would never be here meeting all of us, and she's glad to have done that. Wait, you really mean that?" He interrupted his own translation, looking over at Mel. She grinned and nodded.

Virgil thought about the memory he himself had uncovered – the one about young Caroline in her office. He wondered if Caroline remembered his human self. He wondered also if he wanted her to.

Caroline, with a smile, said, "Well, Miss Lance, if you have any grievances, I will do my best to recompense with a share of our funding. But for now, let's sit down and begin the trial."

"Oh, yes." Wheatley pulled out the chair next to his and motioned Mel to sit down. Virgil tried to catch Mel's eye as she did, and was rewarded with a small smile in his direction. For some reason, this made him even more uneasy. He almost preferred her to be angry. Now that her fire had burnt out, he didn't want to see her hurt when he got punished.

Caroline shuffled the papers before her. "Maintenance Core Zero-Zero-Six-Two-Nine-Six," she began, "preferred name Virgil, you are brought here before us today under a list of grievances: violations against the laws of the facility, sabotage of Aperture property, and attempted murder, not to mention physical injury sustained to a member of our gathered party."

Virgil shrank a little with every accusation.

"Do you have any objection against these charges?" Caroline finished.

Virgil shook his optic from side to side sadly. "No, I do not," he told her.

"I see." Caroline put down the papers and leaned back in her seat, keeping her eyes fixed on Virgil. She picked up one of the files. "Although, according to this, the damage sustained to the facility was kept at a minimal. Overall, you kept everything running pretty smoothly, maintenance-wise. In fact, based on past records, you have done the least harm both in body count and in property damage out of the three of us." Caroline almost had a smile as she said that.

"Wait, hold on!" interjected Wheatley, half-rising. He hovered there for a moment, finger raised in opposition, then settled back into his seat. "Yep, no, never mind. You're right."

"I have heard both Chell's and Wheatley's accounts of what happened," Caroline continued. "I am undeniably anxious to hear yours. Whenever you are ready, state your case." She leaned back.

"Ahh…" Virgil wasn't quite sure how court cases were supposed to go, or how strictly this was adhering to a typical one. "I… um… I plead guilty."

"Noted." Caroline did not seem perturbed. "But we still need to see how strict your sentence will be based on your testimony and the evidence provided. I would encourage you not to lie. We have records of nearly every move you made during your time in the System."

"I'm pretty bad at lying anyway," Virgil admitted. He cleared out his vocal transmitter with a gust of air, making a sound like a sigh. "Alright. Here goes nothing."

Virgil launched into his story, making sure to give it more detail than he had given Mel the previous night. Wheatley tried to interject at a few points, but Caroline stopped him each time, allowing Virgil to speak mostly uninterrupted.

At one point during his story when he was giving a detailed reflection about the Reward, he noticed Chell swiftly get up and stand with her back to him, rigid and unmoving. Wheatley made a small movement toward her, but Caroline waved him back. Even though she looked concerned, she obeyed Chell's gesture and told Virgil to continue.

Virgil wondered where the man was – the other man who had helped carry Wheatley out of the dome. He might not work at Aperture, he decided upon reflection. He was probably dragged into this headfirst, just like Mel was. Well, the fact that he walked out of this calmly enough showed that he couldn't have been too badly shaken by his experiences. Virgil didn't doubt that inflicted trauma would have shown up on his list of violations if he had incurred that. Hopefully the man was just fine.

These questions were answered a moment later when the man came in, gently knocking on the partway open door. Caroline had Virgil stop as the man came in, delivering food that had apparently been ordered in advance. Virgil noticed how Chell's posture relaxed when she saw the man, whose name was apparently Jack, or Mr. Bulmier. He also didn't miss Jack's special smile sent in Chell's direction as he left the room again. Virgil didn't have to be a scientist to know what that meant.

The humans ate as Virgil continued his rendition. He took a long time – all the food was gone by the time he finished. When he did, there was a moment of silence as everyone considered what he had said.

"Before we continue," Caroline said at last, "does anyone have any questions to pose to Virgil?"

Nobody did.

"Very well." Caroline idly rolled a pencil between her fingers. "Virgil, you mentioned earlier, as did Wheatley to me, that you were once a human before becoming a core. Is this true?"

"Ah… yes," answered Virgil uneasily. He knew this question would come up sooner or later. "And actually, in my old memories, I remember seeing you back when you were Cave Johnson's assistant."

"Do you?" For the first time, Caroline looked startled. She probed her mind, trying to remember. "I'm sorry," she said at last, "I can't return the favor. Not all my memories from back then are in pristine condition, you see."

"I understand," said Virgil. "I can't even remember my old name from back then. 'Virgil' is the name I thought up afterwards."

"I see. Your prior humanity changes things somewhat. Normally if an Aperture Personality Construct had committed these violations we would not be sticking to a standard case, the mind of the construct being formed from the code which creates it, but as a human mind, we need to take supplementary measures. Also, this makes everything a bit more complicated in the decisions we can make. As a once-human, I feel you have the right to plead to an official court of justice, but only if you cease to be an Aperture product."

"What… what are you saying?" Virgil stammered, having a pretty good idea what she was saying.

"All the information pertaining to human-core transfers – and vice-versa – were deleted," Caroline stated. "But, if you wish it, we can try our best to reobtain the data and find your old human body, which I'm sure was kept somewhere, and we can take this case public. If not, you will still be considered an Aperture product and your punishment is determined by us alone. Make your decision."

"Take all the time you need," added Doctor Rattmann, who was jotting down notes on his clipboard.

"No," answered Virgil immediately. "Sorry, but no. I'm not going back to being human if I can help it."

The others looked surprised. Mel's mouth was slightly ajar.

"What? Seriously?" exclaimed Wheatley. "Not human again – you don't even want to? Really?"

"I mean it," repeated Virgil, then hastened to explain. "I mean, it- it's nothing personal against humanity or anything. It's just…" he rolled his eye, trying to find the right words. "You two were forced out of your humanity. The scientists stole that from you. You never really wanted to be a core in the first place. But not me. I volunteered for this. I'm not exactly sure what happened back then when I was human, but… I- I think that somebody close to me died. Someone I cared for. I didn't want to die. Hey, I still don't want to die. I've tasted immortality, now! I've lived for thousands of years longer than I should have – I don't want to give that up! So, sorry, but… even if it means a harsher sentence… I'll abide by your judgement."

Caroline nodded slowly. "Alright," she said softly, then once again in a firmer tone, rising from her seat. "Alright. Virgil Core, you have pleaded guilty in front of our gathering and we find you guilty of these charges pressed upon you. We will have you put back into seclusion until we decide your punishment."

"Wait," called Virgil as Caroline motioned for Atlas and P-Body to enter. "One question first, if I may. It's really been bugging me." He took a deep breath. "What is the deal with Twenty Fifty-Six? I've seen it all over, in graffiti, in passwords… and I was just wondering… what it's all about."

Caroline looked bemused, wracking her brain. But then Doug started chuckling behind her and everyone turned to him.

"Sorry," he apologized, eyes still twinkling. "It was something of a joke among the scientists. I don't remember where it started, but it took off not to long after I was hired. We joked about how long it would take before the GLaDOS project would be finished. We decided that 2056 was the year when all the glitches would finally be worked out. After that it became the year of promise. When would Black Mesa go bankrupt? Twenty Fifty-Six. When would you get that promotion? Twenty Fifty-Six. When would they finally serve good food down there in the cafeteria? Twenty Fifty-Six. So you see, there's really nothing behind it all except a good laugh."

"Ah," said Virgil, smiling a bit to himself. "I see."

Caroline nodded to Atlas and P-Body. "Bring him back in an hour. We should be done by then."

Virgil felt a surge of fear as their robotic hands closed around him once more. "M-Mel?" he stammered. She gave him an encouraging look as he was carried away, but he still caught the gleam of anxiety in her eyes. She knew as well as he did.

He was doomed.

**()-()**

**Mel leaned against the sleek glass side of the elevator, watching the gleaming vertical lights sweep past and the steel plates that made up the shaft she sped through turn from stormy gray to grimy brown. Every once in a while the view would open up and she would see large open areas of the facility filled with the outsides of testing tracks colored white, black, or yellow. Pipes filled with billowing gels swept past and cubes rattled by on their way to some unknown chamber, ready to be put to use.**

**Mel was filled again with the wonder of this place which had first smote her when she entered the facility, so many years ago. She leaned her cheek against the elevator's side, breathing so that she would not fog up the glass. She would miss this place. She would miss Old Reliable. She would miss Virgil most of all. But she knew she could not stay. She was not designed to live in such a dark, airless place as this. Even if the impending danger of GLaDOS' return did not spur her to leave, she could not stay. Society called her. The outside world pleaded with her to come and join it.**

**The gleam of afternoon sunlight shining through the panels made Mel's heart race with an unnamable desire, making it ache with longing. There – out there was where she belonged. Not here with these cogs and wires and infinite machinations. Out there with grass and trees and nature. That was where she needed to be.**

**Finally the elevator came to a halt and the doors revolved open. Mel, not without an inward cringe of fear, stepped out into what seemed to be the inside of a small storage room filled with boxes marked with the Aperture symbol. She picked her way across the floor and over to the door, which was closed with a large valve.**

_**I'd better be able to open this one**_**, Mel thought to herself. **_**Virgil would never have me hear the end of it if I can't.**_

**But the wheel turned easily and in a moment it was open. Mel stepped out into the ruins of Aperture's courtyard where the grass grew and the sun streamed in. The wind ruffled her hair and she could hear the birds singing overhead. The sting of the sunlight filled her eyes and she could not stop them from filling, even if only for a moment, with tears.**

**It was hers.**

**Freedom was hers.**

**()-()**

Caroline sat rigidly in her seat as Virgil was carried back in. There was no need to look at anyone's face to see what they were feeling. It had taken her most of an hour to persuade them toward her way of thinking, and still nobody – including herself – was truly happy with the verdict.

It was a gamble, Caroline knew, and a risky one at that. The winnings were high if they won, but the consequences equally low if they lucked out. She could see Wheatley twisting his fingers out of the corner of her eye. Out of all of them, he was the one who dissented against this most verbosely, although that was expected. Everyone had some concerns to state, but after an hour of debating, they had agreed with Caroline's plan.

Caroline's eyes shifted over to the clock on the wall. They had started at late afternoon and now night had fallen. The clock stated the time 8:56. But in military time, Caroline thought, it would be 20:56. Maybe not the year of blessing, but certainly the time of truth.

How superstitions rose.

"Hello again, Virgil," Caroline greeted as Virgil was settled back into place.

Virgil muttered a response, too nervous to make a coherent answer. Over the last hour, his mind had been going wild with possible punishments. The worst one he had imagined yet was being told that they were going to put him into his old human body after all, that being his punishment since he said he dreaded it so badly. That would be as bad as a death sentence! Based on the grim expressions all around, his true sentence would be no better.

"Well," Caroline began. "We took some time deciding…"

"Debating," coughed Wheatley.

"…And we are ready to deliver your sentence."

"And I am ready to receive it," Virgil told them, sounding more confident than he felt. "Fire away."

Caroline was busy with the pencil again, rolling it comfortingly between her fingers. "You have not committed any serious acts against us," she started again, seeming almost nervous, "which lightens your sentence somewhat. Not fully, but a little."

Virgil felt, if possible, even more scared. Humanity. Humanity for certain. Doomed to a meager pinprick of an existence.

"We have decided…" Caroline looked at the others once more before taking a deep breath and finally finishing. "Virgil Core, your verdict is this: we sentence you serve parole in the DOS System, being joined and removed during certain hours, and subjected to testing reward and withdrawal as it may come. During those times when you are connected to the System, you will do as we order you, be it maintenance, reprogramming, or testing. So it shall be." And Caroline settled back to gauge Virgil's reaction.

Virgil was in shock. He tried to wrap his mind around what Caroline had just condemned him to. Was this a punishment? Yes? No?

"One more time, please," he requested.

"You will be reinstalled into the DOS System," Caroline repeated a bit more slowly.

Virgil tried to think about this. Failed.

"Once more? Please?"

"Oh come on," Wheatley exploded, rising out of his chair and beginning to gesticulate madly with every word. "It's not that hard! You. Into. System. Connected. To. Giant Body. Work. For. Us. There, you got it now?" And he sat back down, crossing his arms and looking sour.

Virgil's hard drive was finally beginning to catch up, although it still felt slow. "I… have some concerns about this," he stated tentatively.

Wheatley gave a guffaw. "Yeah, that's what I said." He gave Caroline an almost but not quite rebellious glance.

"We're not letting you off with a pat on the back," Caroline clarified. "Working from the System will be difficult enough to be considered a punishment. Even though the… Itch… has been removed," Caroline clumsily borrowed Wheatley's term, "the reward coding has not been programmed out. You will not feel the drive to test, but up to a point it will give you the reward and withdrawal from testing. We hope to someday overcome and desensitize you to the withdrawal, but it will be unpleasant at the very beginning. Also, there is the point of removed from the System every day, which I remember being particularly unpleasant." Caroline, Wheatley, and Virgil all shuddered with varying degrees at this memory.

"Alright, so I get that bit," Virgil said, "but… why at all? Isn't it too much risk after everything I tried to do?"

"I said that too," exclaimed Wheatley.

"It does have some amount of risk involved," Caroline admitted, "but I think that it will all be worthwhile if we can pull it off. This facility – especially the upper layers – were designed to be controlled by GLaDOS. We've been trying to reprogram everything to respond to a human interface, but without the DOS System assisting us during that transfer, every attempt we make has been shot down by the System. Once it might have been possible with the Manual DOS prototype, but GLaDOS made sure that the means to manually control the System were destroyed as soon as they were discovered. But with your assistance, we can make three times the amount of progress. My long-term plan is to have you graduate from a part-time parole to a full-time vocation in the System, each assisting the other."

"And here's another thing," Virgil interrupted. "How do you know I won't just go back to madness again? What's to stop me from taking over the facility and testing you all?"

"I said that," mumbled Rattmann, caving to Wheatley's impulsive exclamations.

Caroline gave him a pleading glance that said only too clearly, '_not you, too!_' but said out loud to Virgil, "Well, for one thing, it always takes the Central Core some time to submit themselves to the madness and with frequent detachment that danger should be lessened. Also, with the Itch gone there is little chance of madness springing from irritation, which seemed to be the main problem. As for how to stop you, we will make sure to install safeguards in place to subdue or otherwise impair the DOS system. We can even figure out a manual way to rip you out, if it comes to that, although I hope that will not become necessary." There was the gleam of a threat in Caroline's eyes.

"Ah… yes," Virgil said, somewhat chagrinned.

"And also," Caroline added after a short pause, "you said you were sorry. If you truly are sorry, you will help us and obey our commands to help the facility. If not, well then, there's the security measures I mentioned before."

"One more question," Virgil said after mulling this all over a bit. "Why me? I know- I know about the System only accepting cores with a once-human mind, and I know about advancing science and all that, but… am I really the best person to do this? I hurt you. Intentionally. And… did some really nasty things while I was in the System. Do you really want me back there again?"

Caroline leaned forward, tapping her pencil eraser on the tabletop. "Think about what I said before: of the three of us who were in charge of Aperture via the System, your reign bore the cleanest record. You knew what you were getting into, you tried hardest to do what was best for those around you, the facility, and yourself. You withstood a very trying challenge and came out on top with minimal damage done. Not bad at all."

Caroline paused a moment before continuing. "And as track records go, yours is not the worst here. Among our current Aperture employees, we currently have a schizophrenic, a lunatic, a mass murderer, and a moron." Wheatley made a small sound of displeasure, but Caroline's tone was more teasing than condoning. "So having you join the group could only be a step up."

"Yes," agreed Virgil tentatively, "but…"

"Need I remind you," Caroline interrupted, her gaze suddenly stern, "that you have no choice in this matter? You offered yourself to our mercies, wherever they may lie, and in so doing subjected yourself to this penance. You cannot change the verdict. But how you react may change the consequences. Handle this time well and you may land yourself with a new job. Handle it poorly and we will need to find a stricter punishment. Am I clear?"

Virgil nodded, subdued. "Very clear, Miss Caroline."

Caroline took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Good," she said. "Then we are adjourned." She looked up at Chell. "If you would please assist me outside," she requested, "I think the hospital will be expecting my return."

"I'll help as well," offered Rattmann, jumping up from his seat and taking Caroline's other arm.

"Mel and I will stick around here for a while," Wheatley called, not budging from his seat. Chell gave him a short nod and escorted Caroline out of the room.

As the door closed behind the others, Mel leaned forward with an anxious expression, beginning to sign in Virgil's direction. "She wants to know what you think of the sentence," Wheatley translated, looking grumpy.

"I… ah… don't like it," Virgil said honestly, "but that's the point of punishment, I guess. It wasn't at all what I expected. Being heaped with responsibility like this will be stressful, for one, and downright intimidating for another, but… I think I can take it."

"You'd better," mumbled Wheatley. Mel jostled his arm for a reprimand and he hastened to elaborate. "I mean, you'll basically have all of our lives in your hands. Well, not hands, you don't exactly have hands, but… figuratively speaking, if you had hands, you would have our lives in them. That's- that's what I'm trying to say."

"I know," said Virgil uncomfortably. "I'm glad they'll start everything in short sprints, because… I'm not sure how well I would take it if it was longer."

"You'll try your best?" Wheatley translated for Mel.

"Yes. Absolutely." Virgil answered without hesitation. "It won't be pretty, and it'll take a while, but… I will try my hardest. I promise."

"She says that's all she wanted to hear," Wheatley said as Mel rose from her place. She walked the short distance to Virgil and put a gentle hand on top of his core. He leaned into her warmth, embracing the glow of her smile.

"I'll make it up to you, Mel," Virgil murmured, for her ears only.

Mel's smile deepened and she leaned over, pecking a kiss on the top of Virgil's hull. Virgil could feel his systems start heating up. "Aw, Mel," he muttered, his fans kicking up a notch to compensate for his warmth.

"Oh sure, kiss the robot. Sure, no, that's fair," Wheatley grumbled from behind them. Mel, with a slightly devious look turned toward him, striding forward. Virgil saw Wheatley register a look of alarm and flatten himself backward against his seat before Mel swooped down on him, putting a hand on his shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek. When she withdrew, Wheatley looked as if that simple gesture had short-circuited his brain. His ears were bright red and he was still pressed backward against his chair, a goofy half-grin dancing across his face. Virgil thought he had never seen somebody look so utterly ridiculous in his life.

'I have to get up early, so I'll be leaving now,' Mel signed at the shell-shocked Wheatley. 'See you tomorrow?'

Wheatley made a gurgling sound and had to clear his throat several times before his voice came out, veering wildly out of control. "Sure! Sure, whatever- whatever you want, lu- Mel! I meant Mel. Sure. See… see you soon. Yeah. Okay. Soon."

Mel, with an amused smile, left the room.

Wheatley settled back into his chair, his ears still pertaining a rosy glow, but looking much happier than he had a moment before.

"She's really something, isn't she?" Virgil mentioned.

"Hmm, yeah," Wheatley smiled, still looking dreamily at the door through which Mel had exited, his hand absently rubbing the place on his cheek where Mel's lips had touched him. "I suppose she is, yeah, now that you mention it."

Virgil nodded to himself, almost sadly. He wasn't blind. He knew what was going on. If Wheatley played his cards well – which wasn't a given, granted – well, Mel might just have landed herself a big one. "You take care of her," he told Wheatley, begrudgingly accepting what was happening.

"Yeah," Wheatley turned to Virgil, shifting in his chair to face him. "You too. I mean, with the others. They're all important to me, every last one of 'em. If- if you hurt even one hair on any one of their collective heads… I'll… do something really drastic that you'll nev- never see coming," he threatened, waving a finger at Virgil.

Virgil chuckled. Having Wheatley give out threats was rather like having a nanobot try to bully him. Then again, a nanobot swarm was something to contend with. Wheatley had people behind him that could definitely cause him trouble. Maybe the threat was worry-worthy after all. "Okay, it's a deal," Virgil agreed, smiling with his lower eye plate raised.

Wheatley grinned, letting his chair rock backwards. He tapped his fingers on the table. "Okay," he said. "I'll get myself back home, so… you'd better get back into your cell… thing. Um… robots?" He called Atlas and P-Body. They entered and began to bear Virgil out, but Wheatley called them to wait. Shifting his feet and looking more than ever like an anxious spider, he blurted, "I… uh… I forgive you now. Virgil. S-Sorry I had to think about it, but… mm… I do forgive you. Now."

"Thank you," said Virgil.

Wheatley gave a dubious half-grin and waved at him. "See ya later, Virgil. You too, defective turret." He gave a wave at the dented turret, which Virgil had completely forgotten about. "You too, Hoopy."

"Goodbye," the turret crooned, although it wasn't for certain who it was talking to, for Virgil and Wheatley left the room at the same time.

* * *

**A/N: One more chapter coming on Friday, guys! Hang in there!**


	16. Chapter 16: The Conclusion

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Conclusion**

"'M not sure how the others are going to take this," mumbled Wheatley to Mel as the elevator took them downwards.

Mel nudged him, her eyes encouraging. 'They will be happy for you,' she signed for what seemed the umpteenth time.

"But what if… what if they're not?" exclaimed Wheatley, continuing his train of doubts which had been going on for the last hour or so. "What if they're mad at me, or think that I'm ditching them or something?"

'Then you should be flattered that they think so highly of you,' Mel replied stoutly. She nudged him again, a little harder. 'Don't worry about it,' she told him. 'I'll be right here for you.'

"Okay," Wheatley replied, his voice high, still betraying his nervousness. "Okay."

The elevator opened and the two stepped out into the new control room for the Central AI chamber. The occupants of the room turned around to greet them as they entered. Doug Rattmann, speaking through a microphone into the Central Chamber, Caroline, leaning over his chair, Chell, holding a clipboard in the crook of her arm, and Jack, who was apparently touring. _The whole gang, all here_, Wheatley thought.

"Hey, hello! Here we are," he called and was hailed by a chorus of greetings. He and Mel were immediately absorbed into the group and surrounded by smiles.

"Hey, did Wheatley just get here?" Virgil's voice came from the overhead speaker. Wheatley peered out the large bay window and saw Virgil, attached to GLaDOS' old body yet again, looking back at him with a smile.

"Hey, hello there, Virgil!" Wheatley called through the microphone. "Mel, hey, look there. It's Virgil!"

Mel gave a wave through the window. "Hey Mel," Virgil laughed.

"How's it going?" Wheatley asked. "With your parole and everything?"

"Eh, it's going," Virgil said, rocking a bit. "The reward's already died out so I have to keep going to build immunity against the withdrawal, so that's not fun. But other than that… it's going okay. I see you got your cast off."

"Yep!" Wheatley waved his arm about, looking pleased. "Got both arms going here. Fully operational, that's me!"

"Happy to hear that," said Virgil.

Caroline, with a smile, leaned over the microphone. "Virgil, if you would please continue to test, that would be wonderful."

"Yes, Miss Caroline." Virgil turned back to his work.

"What- what is he testing, exactly?" Wheatley asked. He didn't know if he was quite pleased yet with the idea of Virgil in the chassis, but he had at least become accustomed to the idea.

"Lab rats," said Caroline. "Putting them through mazes for cheese. A harmless exercise which gives him less reward and less withdrawal when it's accomplished. And we also did a little reprogramming to make sure he can't lie."

"I thought he already couldn't lie!"

"I said I was bad at it, not that I absolutely can't," corrected Virgil, looking up for a second.

"Oh, okay. That's good, I guess."

"I'm happy you find it so." Caroline walked over to pick up a sheath of papers, tacking them into a clipboard and handing them to Chell. As Chell took them, Wheatley noticed something glittering on her finger.

"Hey, that's a pretty ring," he mentioned. Then a second later, realized he had seen that ring somewhere before. "Hey, wait, that's Jack's engagement ring." Realization finally struck a moment later and his mouth opened wide. "Wait a tic, you… he… you said yes?"

Chell smiled and nodded, her cheeks turning rose-colored as she looked down proudly at the ring.

"But… hey, I wanted to see him pop the question!" Wheatley whined. "I was hoping to be there so I could see your expression!"

"Which is exactly why I asked her when you weren't around," laughed Jack, coming over to put his arm around Chell's shoulder. Chell was beaming. Mel began to sign her congratulations, coming over to give Chell a big hug. The two of them had become friends quickly, Wheatley noted, and that made him feel nice and warm inside. Everyone liked Mel.

But just as quickly as it had loosened, Wheatley's stomach knotted up again. How was he going to tell them about this? He only half-listened to the wedding plans, Virgil's microphone turned off as Chell talked, his mind scrambling for ideas about how to gently acclimate them to his proposition. 'Hey, everybody, I've decided I don't want to work here anymore,' seemed like a very harsh way to start, and the start was the most important bit of all. How was he supposed to do this?

"Wheatley?" Chell was looking up at him, her gray eyes questioning. "Is something wrong?"

Wheatley scrambled over himself to relieve her. "Wrong? No, no, nothing's wrong! What's wrong? Nothing, nothing at all. I'm very, very happy for your wedding and everything, very happy everything turned out great. Everything's fine, everything's good, everyone's happy. You're getting married, Virgil's got a new job, Jack's got you, and the facility's running smoothly. Everything's all sorted out just fine."

"You looked worried," Chell added, ignoring most of his babble.

"Me? Worried? Pshaw, no. I'm not- not worried. Just thinking is all – just… yeah, just thinking. Up here. In my brain. M' big ol' brain."

"About what?" Chell pressed. Wheatley became uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes fixed on him. The only one who wasn't paying any attention was Virgil, and that was because the microphone was switched off.

"Just… y'know," he started awkwardly, twisting his tie with his fingers. "Just things. The facility. And… how it's running so well. And how I'm better now, with my arm out of a sling again."

"Ah," realized Caroline. "You're wondering what you can do next."

"Sort- sort of."

Mel impulsively pulled Wheatley's tie out of his hands before he could strangle himself.

"Well, I have a list drawn up here with some ideas of things you could help with," said Caroline, turning around and sifting through a pile of papers. "You can look through and see if there's one you like."

"Oh… um… thanks, but… but no thanks, really," stammered Wheatley. Why was this so hard for him? "I mean, I'm grateful and everything – really glad you did that and all – but… I actually have… an idea of my own."

Caroline looked surprised and pleased. "Really? Let's hear it."

Mel batted Wheatley's hands down again as they began to twist at his tie in further agitation. She wished she could tell the news for him since he was having such a difficult time with this, but she had left her notepad at home. All she could do was give him an encouraging look and hope he could take it from there.

"I… erm… I…" Wheatley's adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I-I-I sort of won't be… I don't… I mean… I'm quitting here."

"What?" Caroline's question was confused, but to Wheatley's ears it was an exclamation. He ducked his head to study his shoes.

"I mean, not that I don't like it here – I do, really I love it, working here with all of you and everything – but… you seem to have everything under control… without me… and… what I mean to say is… I'm just… going. To find another job. Hope- hope you don't mind or- or anything. 'S nothing personal. I like you all a lot, but I just don't want you to have to scrounge up job after job for me because I couldn't handle the last one."

"Where will you go?" asked Chell, looking concerned. Wheatley was unpleasantly reminded of the recording clip Virgil had forced him to hear with them all talking about how he couldn't do anything in the outside world.

"Maybe I phrased that wrong," he started again. "I actually found another job already, and I'll be starting soon as possible. If- if you think it's okay, of course."

"Another job?" echoed Doug Rattmann, looking astounded, which Wheatley found completely unfair. "Where?"

"Right here with Mel! Apparent- apparently here in the future nobody knows how to talk sign language. I'm the only one in this time. Because I came from the past, y'know. And… and she can't talk, right? So she needs a translator, but she can't get one because nobody speaks it. Or- or signs it, I suppose. But here I come, able and willing, so she asks me, hey, would I be interested in being her personal translator for her. Coming to all her sporting matches and everything so everyone can understand her without her having to write everything down. She- she says the sporting company will pay me to do that, not much, but, you know, enough to live off of. So… you're- you're not angry at me, are you?" Wheatley looked tentatively up at the others.

"Angry?" asked Chell, eyes wide as she took a step forward. "Of course we're not angry!"

"Absolutely not," seconded Doug Rattmann.

"We're proud," Chell continued. She took Wheatley's hand and pressed it. Wheatley felt a lump rise in his throat and hugged her close, resting his chin on the top of her head, more relieved than he could say.

"You're taking your future into your own hands," nodded Caroline, leaning back against the desk. She tired out more easily these days, since she was still recovering, but tried not to show it. "I agree with Chell. We're all very proud of you, Wheatley."

"Thank- thank you," said Wheatley around the lump. Chell squeezed him a little tighter before drawing away back to Jack. "Thank you, luv," Wheatley said to her alone.

He felt Mel tugging on his sleeve. 'I told you,' she signed smugly when he looked down.

Wheatley chuckled a bit, shifting from foot to foot. "Yes, you did. You told me. That- that you did. Yeah."

"Well, just know that you're always welcome back here, Wheatley," said Caroline. "And if you're ever low on funds, I'm sure there are some odd jobs we could have you do."

"Th- thank you, Caroline. Very much appreciated. I'll make sure to pop in every once in a while, just to… you know… just to see how things are doing. Can- can I tell Virgil? About my decision and everything."

"Please do," said Caroline.

Wheatley did, a bit more energetically now that it was out in the open. Virgil nodded up at him. "A good idea for once," he said, then swiftly corrected, "Sorry, I'm sorry. Ha, that… just slipped out. What I meant to say was that… it was a good idea, Wheatley."

"Well, I'm glad you think so… for once," Wheatley replied, trying to sound snide.

"You… ah…" Virgil seemed to have trouble finding the words. "What I mean is… good luck. Out there. With Mel."

"Yeah," said Wheatley. "You too."

He turned away from the window.

Mel tugged at Wheatley's shirt sleeve, smiling as he looked down at her. 'We should go to lunch,' she signed.

"L… Lunch?"

Mel found it funny how flustered Wheatley got over little things. 'To talk through the terms of your services,' she added.

"Oh, oh, okay. That kind of lunch. Okay," Wheatley seemed to calm down a little bit. "Sure, fine, no, that sounds good. I know this place, little diner thing that has the best sandwich-type things in the business. Not quite sure what kind of meat's on 'em, but they're delicious. Wanna go there?"

Mel nodded happily and gave Chell a final hug before she left, waving to everyone else. "Mel says goodbye!" she had Wheatley bellow at Virgil through the microphone and was pleased to hear the response, "So long, Mel. See you soon," greet her from below. She nodded at him to signal her promise.

She would return to Aperture, because the elevator taking her out was no longer an escape. It was a pathway from the world down below to the world above. Both were filled with wonders – the wonders of sunshine and wind up above and the bright, beautiful technology down below. Thanks to Wheatley and Virgil and all the rest of them, both were accessible, now.

Mel tugged Wheatley, her new voice, out of the elevator and lead the way out of the Aperture building. She was struck by how different this departure was from the first time. She walked, not limped. The building was restored, not decimated. Plus – and this was the most important part – she did not leave alone. Mel closed her eyes and sucked in a deep, deep breath of air, letting it out slowly through her nose. She smelled the scent of flowers carried on the breeze and of good, fresh earth.

This was where she belonged.

This was home.

She opened her eyes. 'Lunch?' she signed with a quirk of her brow.

Wheatley smiled at her. "Yup. Absolutely. Best lunch you'll ever have, I can promise you that."

Mel lifted her chin, the light of the sun reflecting in her amber eyes. 'Lead the way.'

**The  
End**

* * *

**A/N: Well, guys, here it is. Olympic Gold is officially over. Thank you all so, SO much for your support. I want to give a special shoutout to CurlyFriDays, User724, Lady Isludis, and Perfect Circumstance, the four who commented on almost EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER I POSTED! Thanks so much, you guys!**

**I'm hoping to be posting stories more frequently from now on - not specifically Portal stories, though - so I hope you'll be interested to see what comes out. I'll also be playing more videogames for my YouTube channel (search for PastSelf) so if that sounds interesting, make sure to look me up.**

**Again, so much thanks to all of you who took some time to read my story - especially since it's a sequel. Wow, that must take some dedication! - and I hope you all have a fantastic rest of your week. PastSelf - we're done here.**


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